


Darkness Falls

by daxxripley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 09:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15288942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daxxripley/pseuds/daxxripley
Summary: Voldemort rises to power after killing Harry during The Triwizard Tournament. He begins a new world order offering all muggle borns, and those who oppose him, as slaves to pure and half-bloods who follow him. Hermione lives in hiding before being captured and sold to a high, pure blood family more than willing to own Harry Potter's best friend.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains dark themes, torture/abuse, death, sex, ect. If you are easily triggered, please read no further. I will not post a warning with every chapter.

**24 June, 1995**

Voldemort moved slowly to face Harry. He raised his wand.

“ _Crucio!_ ”

It was pain beyond anything Harry had ever experienced; his very bones were on fire; his head was surely splitting along his scar; his eyes rolling madly in his head; he wanted it to end. . . to black out. . . to die. . .

And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those bright red eyes through a kind of mist. The night was ringing with the sound of Death Eaters' laughter.

“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me,” said Voldemort. “But I want there to be no mistake in anybody's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him.”

Harry's muscles flexed weakly against the ropes tying him down, his fingers desperately grasping for his wand in his pocket but to no avail; there was no escaping the ties that bound him in place. Harry glanced around the graveyard desperately. Cedric's lifeless body lay limp, cast aside as if he were as worthless as a maggot. A group of Death Eaters, cloaked in black but their faces bright with amused malice, stood proudly in formation behind Voldemort. This was it – there was no escape this time. The warm, night air kissed Harry's face gently, blowing the hair from his forehead and revealing the brand on his forehead. Breathing heavily, Harry confidently raised his eyes to meet Voldemort's.

Voldemort's lips slowly curled into a smile.

“Harry Potter, the boy who lived,” his hissed, taking small steps closer to Harry. “Come to die.”

Voldemort raised his wand once more, aiming purposefully at the famous lightening bolt scar on the boy's forehead. Harry opened his mouth, surely to spit a retort in Voldemort's face, but before the breath could reach his lungs the graveyard was illuminated in green, and then Harry's world was black and cold.

* * *

 

Existence left in a clean, painless second; as easy as falling asleep. What once was torture to his body, a pain so deep it felt as if his very soul was tearing in two, closed finally. Pure, serene, clarity filled Harry's spirit, and a world full of darkness vanished.

“Harry,” a soft, soothing voice whispered. “Love, we're here.”

“It's okay, son,” a deeper voice beckoned.

Harry's eyes fluttered momentarily before focusing, and for a brief moment he seemed to be looking at his own reflection. As his sight cleared, he quickly realized the eyes that he thought were his, that so closely matched in every fleck of the iris, did not belong to him; in fact, they belonged to a woman. Red of hair, a soft expression, but deep green eyes that matched his perfectly. His mother.

“Harry,” she whispered softly. “You brave boy. We are so proud.”

His heart swelled at the sound of her voice. The pieces of him that he craved to find for so long seemed to be filled just by the whisper of his name on his mother's lips. His gaze shifted and he saw himself again, but this time in his father. It was as if Harry was seeing himself for the first time through the two people he had been so desperate to reach his entire life. His eyes stung and he blinked rapidly, the memories of Voldemort flooding back momentarily. Lily touched his face gently, warming his cheek where her hand fell, her expression deeply loving.

“My love, you have been wonderful. You can be at peace,” she whispered softly, beckoning him forward.

Struck by an overwhelming feeling of both love and relief, his gaze shifted to his father who smiled at him. James reached forward and brushed Harry's hair from his forehead.

“This is it?” Harry whispered, his voice nearly catching in his throat, unbelieving.

He felt a hitch in his chest as realized what was happening; he was leaving them behind. Everyone from Hermione, Ron, the students and professors at Hogwarts to all of the muggle born children; abandoning them. This moment, in the presence of the two individuals he desperately wanted more than anyone, meant letting go of everyone else in his life. Did he have a choice? Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts. His heart was breaking. He failed them all. How could he leave them? What would happen to his friends? So many innocent people would die.

Soft fingertips ran through his hair, urging his attention from his thoughts back to his parents. James and Lily regarded him carefully, but their expressions were consoling and caring. They seemed to feel every tendril of emotion Harry felt: betrayal, remorse, guilt, but also love, warmth, and peace – all at once.

James moved to Harry, pulling his son in close, “Harry, you've done more than enough. You've been extraordinary. Your time is done, son. You can come home.”

Lily stepped to the opposite side of Harry, enveloping him completely and wrapping her arms lovingly around him, “Harry; my sweet Harry. Don't cry. They are able. It's okay, they are capable, and you can let go.”

This moment was all he truly longed for. He needed his parents more than he needed to be a hero. Possibly, he was never destined to fight. Maybe, somehow, he was always, truly, only meant to be a boy; not the boy who lived. Only the boy, happy, and surrounded by his family. Harry, accepting what he knew to be true, relaxed and embraced his surroundings.

His eyes stung and he closed them tightly, exhaling and feeling only the love and warmth from his parents. He reached forward, one hand finding his father and the opposite finding his mother, and with a relieved sigh his world went perfectly white and Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was at peace.

 

* * *

 

The Gryffindors screamed, cheered loudly, but only for a moment. It took a single breath before the air seemed thick with Dark Magic, and The Triwizard Tournament crowd froze, every student, in their very seats. Pale, horrified faces gazed forward as everyone quickly realized the champion they were expecting to see was no hero at all. Voldemort stood proudly, smiling at the onlooking crowd of Hogwarts students and professors. He gave a slow bow and spread his arms out wide, gesturing for everyone to acknowledge the Death Eaters that stood proudly behind him. Lucius Malfoy stepped forward to Voldemort's side and carelessly dropped the limp, cold body of Harry Potter face down onto the damp grass. The crowd of students sharply gasped, and then only the soft sound of heartbeats could be heard in the among them. And then, somewhere from the crowd of Death Eaters, came a bone chilling laugh. Soon the ears of the students of Hogwarts was filled with the clapping and laughing, cheers and shouts, from the Death Eaters.

Dumbledore stepped forward, pale faced but steady and swiftly reaching for the wand tucked carefully away in his robes, but before he could even mutter an incantation, Voldemort raised his own wand. Instantaneously, ribbons of green and bright sparks flew from the tip, illuminating the sky, engulfing the students, and both silencing his Death Eaters and securing the students in front of him. Above them, deep in the dark clouds, rose the dark mark and hovered ominously overhead. The crowd dared not to breath too loudly, petrified, as Voldemort stood before them. Quickly, Death Eaters by the dozen were summoned confidently behind him.

“Harry Potter is dead,” Voldemort spoke, grinning eerily at the lifeless body laid before his feet. “You, the children of Hogwarts, have a choice. My new world order is among you; accept and embrace, or suffer the same fate.”

Dumbledore raised his wand, followed immediately by the dedicated professors of Hogwarts, but before their spells could fire, before they could even breathe, Voldemort and his followers were gone; his offer, warning, left lingering in the air.

 

* * *

 

**25 June, 1995**

 

**The Daily Prophet**

_The Return of You-Know-Who_

 

“On the night of the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we can confirm, You-Know-Who was sighted in the flesh. Reported directly by the Minister of Magic himself, You-Know-Who made his appearance and, with him, returned the body of none other than Harry Potter. Mr. Potter was pronounced dead on the scene by Albus Dumbledore. All students have been seen safely home, under direct and constant observation of Professors of Hogwarts and Aurors alike. A vigil will be held for Mr. Potter at Hogwarts on the night of June 27th, under the protection of The Ministry and Order of The Phoenix. Anyone wishing to attend must send notice by owl to The Ministry no later than the evening of the 26th, as careful arrangements will be made for entry onto the grounds of Hogwarts. Aurors and other members of The Ministry will be on site for protection. As always, in these dark times, the most extreme precautions are necessary. Anyone wishing to attend, but under the age of 18, will need a signed notice from a legal guardian. Safety, in these times, is of the most importance.

The whereabouts of You-Know-Who are currently unknown, as are that of his dedicated followers. In this dangerous time, we urge all witches and wizards to take extreme precaution. The Ministry of Magic is working tirelessly to apprehend those believed to be associated with You-Know-Who, and he as well. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, or suspect suspicious activity, contact The Ministry immediately.

Your Ministry and The Order remain vigilant and strong in these trying times.”

 

 


	2. Damaged

**30 June, 1995**

“It was the best option for their safety and yours, Hermione.”

“It's done, then?”

“It's done.”

Hermione felt her world collapsing, surely, with each shaky breath she took. She was trying so diligently not to cry, not to break down, but everything was falling apart so quickly it felt as if the very Earth was turned upside down.

“It's okay to cry,” Sirius whispered behind her.

She didn't want to cry in front of him, though. She didn't want to cry in front of anyone anymore. She'd cried herself to sleep, what little she got, for the past two nights and still she felt her eyes brimming with tears. With shaking hands, she wiped her face clean and attempted to compose herself before she turned around to face him.

“Where are they going?”

“Australia,” he replied immediately, knowing it was useless to lie to her or sugar coat the truth. “They believe they are Wendell and Monica Wilkins.... They're probably already on the plane by now. Don't worry.”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. It was unfair, unbelievable, all of it. Just a few days ago their biggest worry was Harry getting through The Final Task and now, so suddenly, he was gone, Voldemort had returned, and everyone's future seemed short and uncertain. Her mind wandered back to her last moments with her parents earlier that day. Sirius, acting on Dumbledore's orders, was sent to retrieve Hermione from her home when it was made clear that none of them were safe. Being muggle-born, and also the best friend of Harry Potter, put her in more danger than most, and it was imperative that she was in a safe place. Sirius had pulled her aside after he arrived and explained the plan they had all come up with; to move Hermione to The Burrow where she could be protected by The Order and to charm her parents into believing they were different people with a sudden urge to move out of the country. She had agreed, of course, but her understanding didn't lessen the pain she felt having Sirius confirm that her parents, in fact, were blissfully unaware of their daughter's existence or the danger she was in. It had not taken her long to pack, and once she was done, she had said her painful goodbyes to her parents and Sirius had sent her to The Burrow by portkey. He then stayed behind to carry out his orders.

“What if they find them?” she whispered, images of Death Eaters torturing her parents for information piercing her mind.

Sirius put a gentle hand on her shoulder and exhaled slowly, “It's far more likely they'll put more effort into finding you rather than locating your parents.”

Hermione winced. Sirius shook his head and brushed a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, “I've always been rubbish at consoling people, but Hermione, there is no use treating you like a child or attempting to hide the awful truth of what's happening around us. The world will not go soft on you because you're young, and no one here is doing you a favor by doing so either. The horrible truth is that we know Voldemort has put a high bounty on both you and Ron because you were Harry's best friend's, but especially you because you're muggle-born. It's likely that Death Eaters would've eventually visited your home in an attempt to locate you, but it's doubtful that they'll go through much length to find them. It'd be more valuable for their time to just look for you themselves.”

“They'll look here, you know,” she replied softly. “The Burrow will be at the top of their list to search for us.”

Sirius dropped his hand and nodded slowly, “We know. The meeting with The Order members should be beginning any minute now. We'll decide how to best handle it from here. You should go find Ron and Ginny, I'm sure they could use your company as much as you could use theirs.”

She realized then that she had not spoken to either Ron or Ginny since they had left Hogwarts. When she had arrived earlier that day, she had seen only Molly who had embraced her immediately before trying to force feed her one of the dozens of pastries she had baked. After declining, Hermione had taken her things into Ginny's room to settle in but Ginny was gone.

“If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask,” Sirius added just before he left the room.

Hermione waited until the sound of his footsteps had silenced before she left the bedroom in search of Ginny. It took only a few steps down the hallway before she ran into her. Ginny was leaving the bathroom, her eyes downcast. Her hair was in a dirty, unbrushed ponytail, and her eyes were swollen and red rimmed from crying.

“Ginny,” Hermione whispered, somehow still taken aback by Ginny's poor physical condition.

Before Ginny could look up and meet her eyes, Hermione had her arms wrapped around the young girl's trembling shoulders. She felt sick with guilt. She should've checked on Ginny sooner, she should've been there for her. Who else did Ginny have to turn to but Hermione? Ron? Molly, maybe? But no one, except Hermione, could understand as closely what Ginny was feeling through all of this. She knew of her feelings towards Harry; what she'd felt for him since their very first meeting, and also the fear she felt for her family, especially Ron. Of course, Ginny was a wreck.

“I never told him-” she started to say between quiet cries.

“I know, Ginny, I know,” Hermione said softly, attempting to ease some of her pain.

It took a few minutes of quiet crying and Hermione holding her, rubbing her back softly, before Ginny sniffled a few times and pulled away, wiping her eyes.

“It's going to be okay,” Hermione lied automatically before remembering Sirius' words to her moments ago: the world will not go soft on you because you're young, and no one here is doing you a favor by doing so either. She immediately regretted her false reassurance.

“What do you think is going to happen?” Ginny asked, again wiping her puffy eyes.

“I don't know,” Hermione replied solemnly after a few moments. “We shouldn't think about that, though. We have to stick together. Dumbledore will have a plan.”

Just then, a door slammed above them and the two girls jumped. Hermione pulled her wand instinctively and brandished it in front of her. Though she knew The Burrow was safe, and no one in the house meant her any arm, her nerves were shot and every loud bang came with a flood of mental images of Death Eaters. However, it was Ron who leaned over the balcony and looked down upon them apologetically.

“Sorry,” he muttered, realizing he'd startled them.

As Hermione tucked her wand away with shaking fingers, she had an awful realization; if The Burrow didn't even feel safe anymore, where would? Was this going to be her life now? Living in fear that around ever corner, every shadow that passed her, was a Death Eater lurking? That even in a place that should feel like home to her, one loud noise was petrifying. She needed to calm down and get some fresh air, try and gather her thoughts, but Ron had other plans. He stormed down the stairs to them, hands balled into fists, clearly beside himself with anger.

“I'm going to bloody kill him,” he whispered determinedly.

“Who?” Hermione and Ginny asked together.

“Draco!”

_They filed out of the common room and into The Great Hall together; Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville. Their belongings were being carried off from the dormitories and their escorts home were being prepared. Most of the students were quiet, beyond some terrified whispers, but especially the Gryffindors; they were in mourning. There was, however, a stand out group of Slytherins that, to them, this day seemed almost a celebration._

_As the four entered The Great Hall, where breakfast was being served though less than a fraction of the students were actually eating at all, they could hear the group of Slytherins immediately. They stood out from the rest of the school, with absolutely no care or regard for their fellow students, the deceased, or the fear everyone else felt. However, there was one person in particular that obviously took great pride in the events that had just unfolded, and he was the very last person Hermione wished to encounter. Yet there he sat at the Slytherin table, surrounded by his equally amused peers, looking more proud than Hermione had recalled before. They were the only ones in room smiling, and this one especially had a particularly nasty sneer on his face which only increased when he caught glimpse of the Gryffindors that had just entered the room._

_Hermione's face flushed immediately as Draco made eye contact with her and the twisted grin on his face widened as if this was the moment he'd been waiting on; like Christmas had just come early for him. She quickly tried to steer Ron to the Gryffindor table before Draco had a moment to cause a scene, as she didn't believe any of them were in any state to fight at the moment, however she wasn't fast enough._

_“Well, isn't this a sight!” Draco sneered, rising from his seat and gesturing to the four of them. “You're missing someone though, aren't you?”_

_Hermione felt her blood run hot but it was Ron who reacted first. He spit a fowl curse word and turned on his heel immediately, moving for Draco. She grabbed his arm quickly, pulling him back._

_“Ronald, no. He's provoking you on purpose,” Hermione whispered to him frantically, desperate to calm him._

_But all of The Great Hall had gone silent and all eyes were fixed on the two segregated group of students. With tension and fear high, both the Slytherns and Gryffindors had their wands out. Ron's knuckles were turning white from gripping his so tightly, but Hermione knew if a fight broke out between them, it would immediately escalate into a full blown war between houses; and more importantly, cause more damage than what it was worth._

_“What of it, Malfoy?” Ron spit. “A spineless git like you, haven't run home to your daddy yet?”_

_Draco proudly smoothed his robes as he stepped away from the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle, wands at the ready, moved behind him like fat lumps of body guards._

_“Ron,” Hermione pleaded quietly, but he jerked his arm out of her grasp and moved to face Draco._

_“You brainless, pathetic mutt,” Draco retorted, coming to a halt in front of Ron. “You thought being Potter's best friend made you something important for once in your weak little life, but you're still filth; hanging with the likes of Mudbloods.”_

_Before any of them could respond, Draco began to pace around them, analyzing each of them individually with a look of disgust on his face, and his assault continued._

_“No excuse for you, Weasel, except maybe that your dim parents were too poor to afford to educate you properly on status. Neville, however, may actually be too stupid to even realize the importance of pure blood,” the group of Slytherins snickered behind Draco and he shot an amused grin over his shoulder at them before turning on Hermione. “And you, filthy Mudblood... you shouldn't even cry over Potter. It wasn't a loss anyway, but don't worry, you'll be seeing him again soon, I promise. Say your goodbyes to Hogwarts before you go, it'll be the last time trash like you are accepted in.”_

_And that was the breaking point. Hermione reached for her own wand, but the rest of them were already poised for a fight. It was unclear who cast the first spell, but suddenly lights of green and red were colliding all around them. The sounds of spells and curses being fired filled the room and a haze of smoke blinded them all. The students began to choke and cough, before suddenly the air cleared and an irate voice owned all of their attention._

_“ENOUGH!” Professor McGonagall screamed, her voice cracking in anger, raging forward and waving her wand. “ABSOLUTELY ENOUGH!”_

_She glanced around at them furiously, noticing at the last second that Ron had apparently tossed his wand aside and turned the fight physical. Ron's bottom lip was busted and a trickle of blood was dripping down his chin. He was sitting on top of Draco, whose nose had clearly been broken, the front of his face and robes already staining red. Hermione had never seen her Professor so beside herself with fury, her lips were pulled into a barely visible white line and veins on her forehead were pulsing. She whipped her wand quickly and the two boys flew backwards apart from each other._

_“Draco Malfoy!” She shouted, turning on the group of Slytherins. “I believe the carriage your father sent for you arrived hours ago. I can only assume you're waiting around to look for trouble. I suggest you and your friends take this moment to say your goodbyes to each other and go. I expect your father is anticipating your arrival.”_

_“And you,” She said dangerously as she turned on Ron and the Gryffindors, her expression softening only slightly. “I expected better of you. If you're all packed, the train should be leaving soon. I'll escort you myself.”_

_Draco sneered as he stood up, wiping the blood from his face and darting his glares between Professor McGonagall and Ron as he spoke, “Come, Crabbe, Goyle. I see the filth of Hogwarts still think they have power. Wait until next term, we'll see if you're bold enough to speak to me like this; that is, if they even let you in at all.”_

_He brushed past them roughly, pausing next to Hermione and whispering so closely to her that she could feel his breath on her ear, and only she could hear, “As for you, Mudblood, tell Potter I said hello. I hope the next time I hear of your name, it's an obituary in The Daily Prophet, though I strongly doubt they'd waste the ink on the likes of your kind.”_

“When I see him again I swear I'll kill him, and his piece of shit father too,” Ron spit, his anger not having lessened any over the past few days.

Hermione somehow still managed to be surprised that Draco had acted as foul as he had their last encounter. She knew Draco, like his father, took pride in their pure blood status and thought themselves above the rest. It had been proven the first time he'd called her a Mudblood, but truly seeing Voldemort for the first time, having one of their fellow students killed and his body tossed on the ground carelessly, she thought Draco might have shown even the slightest bit of fear or remorse. She quickly realized how foolish it had been to think such a thing. Of course it wouldn't affect Draco. He'd always hated Harry, been jealous mostly, and he loathed Hermione possibly more. And now he really was capable of prancing around like he was above them; as far as most were concerned now, he was.

“You know we won't be going back, we can't,” Hermione said softly. “Even with Dumbledore and The Order, I don't think Hogwarts is safe for us anymore.”

“Not go back?” Ginny asked quietly. “Hogwarts is possibly the safest place there is!”

“Before Voldemort-”

“DON'T say his name!” Ron interrupted quickly.

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, finishing her sentence more carefully. “Before You-Know-Who returned. I've been hoping for a bit of news from The Daily Prophet, but they haven't published anything since the article about Harry. We don't know just how bad it is out there... for all we know, Hogwarts isn't even the same anymore.”

“Mum is freaking out, says she refuses to let us out of the house,” Ron added. “She says it's worse than last time when You-Know-Who was in power.”

“I think she's right,” Hermione agreed quietly.

Just then, Fred and George appeared, interrupting their conversation. The twins looked tired, not at all their usual mischievous selves.

“The meeting is about to start, Remus just arrived,” Fred informed them.

George pulled one of their inventions from his pocket. It was a large ear, hanging by what appeared to be a feeble string.

“I present to you, The Extendable Ear, one our newest creations,” George said, somewhat proudly. “Since they won't let us sit in on the meeting, Fred and I figured we could put this to good use and listen in.”

Though Hermione was strongly against eavesdropping, she was just as desperate for information as the rest of them. Together, the five of them sneaked downstairs where the meeting was being held and George put his invention in place. They sat quietly around the opposite ends of The Extendable Ear and began to listen.

“Shouldn't we wait for Dumbledore?” Molly asked.

“He won't be in attendance.”

“Mad-Eye Moody, of course. I'd forgotten he was part of The Order,” Hermione said quietly.

“Shh!” Ron whispered sharply, and they turned their attention back to the meeting.

“Won't be in attendance? What do you mean?” Molly asked hotly.

“Dumbledore's gone,” Moody replied coolly. “Off on business, didn't give me details.”

“OFF ON BUSINESS? WHY-” Molly began before being interrupted by Remus.

“Molly, please. We have matters of larger importance than why Dumbledore is gone.”

There was a pause and scraping of chairs on the floor as everyone in the meeting settled in before they continued. It was Moody who spoke first.

“Dumbledore has resigned his position as Headmaster. So far, there's no news of who will be taking his place but we believe You-Know-Who has infiltrated both The Ministry and Hogwarts.”

“Resigned?” Molly exclaimed before both Sirius and Remus made irritated sounds in the back of their throats.

Moody mumbled something about being interrupted before he continued.

“There have been strange disappearances, from adults to children, all of them muggles and muggle born. We know this is the work of You-Know-Who and his followers, but as we haven't located the bodies of any of the missing persons, it's unclear exactly what they're doing with them, though we have a slight idea.”

“Which brings me to my next point, something The Daily Prophet has conveniently failed to write about, probably because they're all working for You-Know-Who,” Moody grumbled, sidetracking himself angrily before he caught his train of thought once more. “Azkaban has been compromised. Hundreds of dark witches and wizards have been let free. We believe it's highly likely that You-Know-Who is now using Azkaban as a holding place for his captives.”

“Then we break them out,” Sirius said sharply.

“We don't have the numbers,” Remus countered carefully.

“We can't leave them in there,” Sirius argued quickly. “You don't know what it's like.”

“Voldemort has amassed an army that doubles, even triples, that of us in The Order; and that's just in the few days following his return. In the coming weeks and months, if something drastic isn't done soon, I fear the worst is going to happen,” Kingsley interjected.

“Then we need to act now!” Sirius shouted, his fist banging on the table aggressively. “They won't stop rounding up the muggle-borns or killing muggles if we don't at least try to stop them.”

“Dumbledore wants us to take a different objective,” Moody replied, though his tone suggested that he did not fully agree with Dumbledore's orders. “I, more than anyone, want to fight right along with you, Sirius. However, Dumbledore's orders are for us to protect the children that we have; take them into hiding, shelter them, and as quickly as possible. We believe Voldemort has already started rounding them up, taking as many muggle-borns as he can for whatever he wants with them. Since we don't have the man power to fight them directly, at least not right now, we need to secure as many of the students as we can and use our strengths to hide them until Dumbledore returns.”

“I simply don't understand... in a time like this, Dumbledore disappears?” Molly said disapprovingly.

“Molly, dear, it must have something to do with defeating You-Know-Who. Dumbledore wouldn't abandon the fight, you know that,” Arthur replied softly.

“What _is_ the plan?” Nymphadora asked, bringing attention back to the task at hand.

“We split up,” Moody began, and Molly cut in immediately.

“Absolutely not! I've already lost one of my children,” she exclaimed, her voice cracking as she threatened to cry. “I won't lose the rest. They'll stay with me.”

The room was quiet for a moment. They all knew she was referring to Harry.

“The Burrow is at risk, Molly,” Sirius said gently. “Even with the protection that's been put in place, they'll come here sooner than later. It's just not safe.”

“Then we move, but we stay together,” she argued, composing herself.

“We're playing with their lives,” Remus said quietly. “If we stay together and they find one, they find them all. It'll confuse them more if we divide into groups. And we need to constantly be moving, never stay in one place too long. We can't force you to separate from your children, Molly, but we'd never suggest something like this if it didn't seem like the best option for their safety. I agree with Alastor.”

Moody merely grunted in response.

“I just... I don't... It doesn't feel right,” Molly said so softly that her voice could barely be heard through The Extendable Ear.

“We'll discuss it more later,” Arthur offered softly. “Nothing has to be decided this very minute, dear.”

“Though the sooner the better,” Moody retorted.

“Thank you, Alastor,” Arthur snapped irritably.

“Safe houses have been set up by Dumbledore. I've given you all locations and entry directions, though it'd be wise to do your best to memorize them quickly.. As I feel tensions have risen quite a bit, it'd be best to call this meeting to an end. Molly, you have tonight to decide what you feel is best, but by morning, we need to get a move on.”

George began tugging on his invention and had it in his grasp just as the door opened and The Order members began exiting. The five of them rushed quietly upstairs and shut themselves in Fred and George's room.

“Looks like the real Mad-Eye is just as aggressive as the fake one was,” Fred commented dryly.

“If by aggressive you mean a little crazy than yeah,” George replied with a roll of his eyes.

“What do you mean, the real Mad-Eye Moody?” Hermione asked, confused.

“We heard dad talking to mum after we'd gotten home, thought we couldn't hear them. Amatuers, how long have they known us? Anyway, turns out it wasn't Moody teaching us at Hogwarts last year; it was Barty Crouch Jr. Yep, been brewing a polyjuice potion and using it the whole time, had the real Mad-Eye locked away in his office. They found him after The Triwizard Tournament ended when the fake Moody was nowhere to be found.”

Hermione was dumbfounded, “Barty Crouch Jr?”

“Dad said he was a big supporter of You-Know-Who before,” George answered. “It was all swept under the rug, of course.”

“And he managed to slip past Dumbledore?” Hermione asked incrediously.

“Hard to even trust Dumbledore's judgment after that, and now he's just gone,” Ron muttered, his anger bubbling once more. “What could be more important than what we're all dealing with now?”

“He obviously knows something we don't,” Hermione said defensively, sitting back on Fred's bed and shaking her head. “He wouldn't leave us alone in a time like this unless it was to bring down Voldemort.”

“ _The name!_ ” Ron hissed.

“I'm sorry, Ronald!” Hermione snapped.

“Who do you think is the new Headmaster?” Ginny interjected softly, pulling the two away from what surely seemed to be a forthcoming argument.

“Maybe You-Know-Who himself,” George answered, twirling his invention between his fingers.

“Oh, Malfoy would love that,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Slimy little git.”

There was a fuming silence for a few moments as they soaked in all of this new information. Hermione felt a wave of different emotions; hatred for Draco, fear in Dumbledore's absence, uncertainty with being separated from her friends, sadness over her parents, and above it all a deep ache in her heart where Harry used to live. All of this at once made thinking clearly very difficult. It felt as though the room was growing smaller every passing second, as though the silence was screaming at her, until finally Ginny spoke.

“I can't believe they want to split us all up,” she said. “I agree with Mum, that doesn't feel like the right thing to do.”

“It's smarter, though,” Hermione said, agreeing with Remus. “It makes it less likely for all of us to be found, though the idea doesn't appeal much to me either.”

There was a quick rap on the door before it flew open, causing all five of them to jump. Molly entered the room briskly, her face strained and hair awry. She seemed even more tense than she sounded during the meeting, Hermione noted to herself.

“Come now, dinner,” she said, clearly in the most even tone she could force out.

Not a single one of them put up an argument, though it was doubtful that anyone felt the least bit hungry given the state of things. Everyone was already seated by the time they arrived; Alastor, Remus, Sirius, Nymphadora, Kingsley, and Arthur.

“Where's Percy?” Ron asked as he took a seat.

“Probably couldn't be bothere-” Fred began under his breath.

“Not now, Fred,” Molly exclaimed. “Percy chose to eat in his room.”

And she left it at that. Dinner was a silent affair. You could almost taste the tension and stress in the room, and it made Hermione extremely uncomfortable though she kept it to herself, focusing more on forcing down the food Mrs. Weasley had made for them and looking up from her plate only occasionally. The only standout feature at the table that she noticed was Moody. He looked nothing like the man she had grown accustomed to at Hogwarts. Though in some ways he was obviously the same, the eye and cane, this Moody looked much more frail. In fact, it seemed as though he hadn't eaten in months; his figure was gaunt and the wounds on his face and arms seemed to be just in the final stages of healing. Hermione wondered how he'd even found the strength to stand, let alone come to The Burrow for a meeting and suggest that he be in charge of protecting any of them. Instinct, though, told her it was better not to mention this.

When everyone had forced themselves to eat as much as they could and night had fallen, they all excused themselves from the table and parted ways throughout the house. All through the meal, Hermione's thoughts continuously wandered to the next morning. It was clear that if they were going to move into extreme hiding it would need to be done immediately. She was mostly afraid for Ron and Ginny, worrying that Mrs. Weasley would decide it better for them to stay at The Burrow though they all knew it to be safe for only a short while.

Finally getting the fresh air that she had needed all day, Hermione soon found herself outside and away from everyone else, sitting next to Ron in the grass by the garden. He was leaned back, looking up at the night sky. He didn't seem tense, which somehow worried her more.

“I didn't even talk to him most of the year,” he finally whispered. “He was my best friend, and I shut him out when he needed that the most.”

“He forgave you, Ron,” Hermione said simply.

“Doesn't matter,” he replied. “If I could go back... I just wouldn't have left him alone like that.”

Hermione reached out and took Ron's hand reassuringly, tears coming once more. “There are things we would all do differently, Ron, but Harry would never want us to look back on our friendship with him with anything but happiness.”

“It's weird, isn't it?” He asked, finally looking at her as if noticing she was there for the first time. “Our whole lives, You-Know-Who has always been looking for Harry. We never looked over our shoulder like Harry did; never wondered if he was out there somewhere, watching, waiting for just the right moment. This must be what it felt like.”

“It was always Harry he was after.... and now, it's us.”


	3. The Burrow

**1 July, 1995**

Hermione and Ginny had stayed awake in her room talking for what seemed like hours. They'd spent the good first part of their conversation talking about the future, but after Hermione surely had cried out all of her tears and was exhausted over fear of what was to come for them, they turned then to their bittersweet memories. They talked of the first time they'd met Harry, how no one could've ever imagined the friendship that would grow from that first hello, though defeating a troll together definitely helped. Hermione recalled all the times they would sneak around using Harry's cloak, finding all the mischief they could manage. Ginny's memories were more tender; she blushed as she spoke of the way his eyes were bright after a Quidditch match, and how, most favorably, he was so kind to everyone.

They were able to smile through the aches in their heart by reminiscing.

“He loved his friends more than anything,” Ginny had said.

“Because we were more than that,” Hermione had replied. “All of us, we were his family.”

* * *

 

As the house had grown silent, everyone else surely resting for the morning, Hermione and Ginny, both exhausted, finally fell into a peaceful slumber.

She wasn't sure what woke her, as the sun had yet to rise, but immediately upon opening her eyes she knew something was wrong; somehow the house felt darker. Hermione laid next to Ginny, daring not to breathe too loudly, and trying to drown out the slow snores of the girl next to her. After a few seconds, she heard it; it sounded almost like electricity, as if something was sparking outside their window.

She tilted her head slowly to try to peek out the window as much as she could while still lying down, but was unable to see anything in the darkness. The spark sounded again. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, feeling her pulse quicken; something was definitely wrong. The strange noise echoed once more, this time it seemed to charge multiple times at once.

“Ginny,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “ _Ginny!_ ”

Ginny groaned in her sleep, shifted slightly, then continued to snore. Hermione pulled the covers back and began to ease her way out of the bed, the noise outside the window becoming stronger and more aggressive with each passing heartbeat. It was then she could hear people beginning to stir downstairs. Hermione grabbed her wand from the bedside table and reached the window, looking outside.

For a moment, she saw nothing but blackness. The moon and stars seemed to have faded out while they slept, making the yard utterly invisible in the night. As she opened her mouth to attempt to wake Ginny once more, still watching outside, a skull splitting explosion rocked The Burrow and the sky flashed a brilliant red, blinding Hermione.

The protective defenses had fallen.

Hermione flew back from the window, landing clear on her back. The breath left her lungs immediately and though desperately she wanted to scream, she could only lie there with her mouth open gasping pathetically for oxygen. Her eyes watered instinctively, blinding her vision, and her ears rang so loudly that she couldn't hear Ginny shouting her name. She blinked rapidly, regaining her sight and finally getting a bit of air, and slowly everything came back into focus.

Ginny was on her knees next to her, eyes wide with terror, forcing Hermione to sit up and causing her head to spin.

“Get up! GET UP!” Ginny was screaming frantically. “We have to go!”

Hermione began to struggle to get on her feet, her equilibrium thrown slightly off balance. Ginny gave her a forceful pull and finally, she was able to stand. They moved quickly for the bedroom door, but paused for a breath of a second. They could hear screams from downstairs; panicked, terrified screams.

“Stay close to me!” Hermione shouted, bursting through the door with Ginny trailing inches behind her.

Smoke was rising from somewhere on the first floor.

“The house is on fire,” Ginny choked.

Hermione ran to the edge of the stairs and peered down. It was chaos. Death Eaters cloaked in black were blasting through The Burrow, destroying everything they could aim at. All members of The Order were fighting back, though they were clearly outnumbered. Hermione tried to count the Death Eaters, but they were quick; disappearing in a breath of smoke and reappearing in a different spot, and there were _so many_ of them. Her whole body began to shake as she reached out for Ginny and gripped her hand tightly.

“What do we do?” Ginny screamed, barely being heard over the sound of curses flying around them.

A large part of the ceiling crumbled and fell, a stray curse destroying yet another part of The Burrow. Hermione had but a second to pull Ginny out of the way before the debris landed where she had been standing. She knew she had to calm down and _think_ , but everything was happening so fast she didn't have time to react and panic began to set in.

Ron, Fred, and George burst into the hallway, wands drawn and appeared to be ready for a fight. When they got closer, though, Hermione noticed the visible fear on Ron's face. It didn't seem to overpower his determination to help his family, however, and it was then that her panic began to subside. Harry's face flashed through her mind quickly, as if telling her to be brave. If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting and not running.

The boys shoved past them and, with Hermione and Ginny running closely behind them, they descended into the war below. They were split up nearly immediately as Death Eaters began turning their attention to the children and firing their spells at them. Hermione instinctively threw her wand up to block a dark curse sent by a figure she couldn't identify. Something exploded over her shoulder, a spell that had missed her by inches, and she shielded her face as shrapnel rained down her.

“STUPEFY!” She shouted, aiming her wand at the dark witch in front of her.

It seemed effortless for the witch to block the spell. She grinned at Hermione, her face dark and twisted, and elicited a laugh that caused Hermione's skin to prickle. Hermione took a step back, preparing for the blow that was sure to come.

“ _CRUCIO!_ ”

“ _PROTEGO!_ ”

Hermione looked to her side, shocked, as the spell had not come from her wand. Sirius had appeared almost out of thin air, and he shoved Hermione behind him, pointing his wand at the witch in front of him.

“Bellatrix,” He spat.

She responded by firing another curse at him, all while laughing. Sirius countered, but the force of the two spells colliding slammed the two of them backwards. He reached out to grab Hermione, but something else had caught her eye. _Ginny._

She was standing behind Molly and Remus while the two of them defended an attack from three Death Eaters. Though they weren't giving up, they were being forced to retreat with each curse that came their way. They were losing. As Hermione shoved herself to her feet, a figure animated out of thin air behind Ginny. She rushed forward, barley hearing the spell she shouted as she aimed at the wizard over Ginny's shoulder. The figure disappeared once more and the spell crashed into the wall behind her, splintering the wood in a shower over Ginny.

Hermione started towards her, ignoring Sirius' yells for her to stop. A Death Eater born from black smoke appeared in front of her, causing her to scream in surprise. He quickly pointed his wand at her, but a familiar voice screamed and a blue light shot past her face, throwing the Death Eater across the room. Ron was at her side quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder and assessing her face for just a brief second before something behind her took his attention away again. She spun to see the attacker, but neither of them were quick enough.

The curse hit her just below her shoulder blade and she screamed out in agony as she crumpled to her knees. She fumbled for her wand that she'd dropped and winced through the pain as she regained herself. Turning to aim her wand at her attacker, she saw that Ron had beaten her to it. He was feet away, firing spell after spell at the witch Sirius had called Bellatrix.

Before she could even come to his aid, there was a flash of red and Ron fell to the floor, his wand rolling to the side. It seemed like an eternity that Hermione stared at his limp body, though it could've only been a second or two, for Bellatrix aimed her wand at Ron once more.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Hermione shrieked, her voice breaking.

Bellatrix gave Hermione a menacing smile as she blocked the spell. A painful scream that sounded too much like Ginny caused Hermione to look away from Bellatrix for seconds too long. When she turned back around, Bellatrix was bent over Ron, gripping his arm tightly. Bellatrix wore a chilling smirk. She looked once at Hermione, began to laugh, and disapparated, taking Ron with her. Hermione could almost still hear her laughter, though she was gone.

“ _RON!”_ She screamed.

She rushed forward, as though she could catch them even though they were gone, but Sirius appeared in front of her. His hand fell roughly on her shoulder and before she had a second to breathe she felt a tugging sensation, everything went dark, and they were at The Burrow no longer.

“WE HAVE TO GO BACK!” She shouted as soon as she felt her feet hit the ground.

“You're bleeding,” Sirius said, ignoring her and twisting her around so that he could look at her wound.

“Sirius!” She yelled, spinning back to face him. “ _We have to go back!_ ”

“We're not going back,” He said with a strong note of finality.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her mouth dropped open and she stared blankly at him for a few moments.

“You just left them,” She whispered in disbelief, her words rushing from her lips. “We left them. There's not enough of them, they won't make it out alive without our help!”

“Everyone was disapparating, Hermione,” Sirius said, gritting his teeth.

Though his face appeared even, his fingers held a slight tremble as he pulled away the fabric from her shoulder and inspected where the curse had hit her.

“It could've been worse,” He said softly once he was done.  
  
“Can you forget about my shoulder for just a _second_?” She asked angrily, turning to face him and swaying slightly in place. “We can't just abandon everyone! What about Ginny? Fred? Geor-”

“HERMIONE!” Sirius yelled, his frustration peaking as he hit his breaking point. “Don't you think leaving was hard for me? I left my _brother!_ I know you want to go back and fight, I know! I do too, but we can't. We can't. My job was to get you to safety, no matter the cost.”

Hermione felt her eyes begin to sting and she shut them tightly, shaking her head. It was wrong. It was the _wrong_ decision. They shouldn't have left. She kept picturing them, Molly, Ginny, Remus, Tonks, Fred and George, all of them, dead. What if they didn't make it out?

“Ron,” Hermione choked, her head spinning. “They have Ron. _She took Ron!_ ”

Sirius was speaking, but Hermione couldn't hear him. In her mind, she saw Ron at the mercy of The Dark Lord; tortured, starved, screaming in agony. Blood pulsed in her head, thumping loudly in her ears, and her vision began to blur. The last thing she remembered was repeating Ron's name, over and over, and the tilt of the world as she collapsed to the ground.

 

**3 July, 1995**

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.”

Hermione's eyes fluttered open slowly. She tried weakly to sit up but her vision echoed and she saw double.

“Not too fast,” Sirius said softly. “You've been out for two days, probably best that you take it slow for a bit.”

She rested her head back against the pillow and exhaled slowly. Sirius must have healed her shoulder, she thought, because there was barely a dull ache where the curse had hit her. Her head pounded, though, most likely from lack of food and dehydration over the past two days of being unconscious.

“There's soup on the stove, I'll bring you some,” He said gently, leaving the room.

For the briefest of moments, Hermione had almost forgotten about the attack on The Burrow. When everything came flooding back, the memories hit her like a curse to the face. Her stomach rolled and she was sure she was going to be sick.

Sirius returned with a small bowl of warm soup and reclaimed his seat next to her bed. He reached out to feed her a spoonful, but she refused.

“What of the others?” She asked quietly, afraid of his answer. “Did anyone... Is everyone...?”

She bit her lip sharply, unable to even finish her sentence. Sirius sat the bowl of soup to the side, knowing full and well that Hermione wouldn't eat until he'd given her every scrap of information he knew.

“Nymphadora arrived here shortly after you fainted,” He began, eyeing her uneaten food with minor annoyance. “Fred was with her. They were both fine; slightly traumatized, I'd say, but physically fine. Tonks said she'd seen Molly disapparate with Ginny, though she wasn't sure their condition when they left.”

Somewhat satisfied with himself, he reached for the soup and attempted to feed her once more. She was wary, however, because he seemed different. His lips were pressed together tightly and his eyes were tired. He seemed excessively worried, obviously, and she had the sudden feeling that he wasn't telling her everything.

“And the rest of them?” She whispered slowly.

This time, he dropped the spoon into the bowl and refused to meet her gaze; or rather couldn't. His lips pressed together tighter and he closed his eyes, breathing slowly for a few seconds before mustering up the strength to continue.

“Remus...” He began, having to force each word out in a quiet voice. “Remus was still fighting when Nympadora left. No one has heard from him, George, or Arthur. An owl arrived yesterday from Alastor; he's only had contact with Kingsley. They're trying to get to anyone in danger before Death Eaters do. Now, eat.”

She grudgingly obliged. The soup held no taste and it fell into her hollow stomach painfully. After a few bites, she shook her head and rejected the rest. Sirius sat the bowl to the side without an argument. She watched him carefully for a few moments. It seemed so much had changed about him in just two days; he seemed drained, both mentally and physically. She wished she knew a way to comfort him, but if she was honest with herself, she knew he was no more capable of being comforted at the moment than she was. Their pain was so similar; losing Harry, Hermione losing Ron, and the uncertainty of Remus' well being.

An awkward silence fell over the two of them. Though he was sitting right next to her, Sirius seemed miles away. Her natural instinct was to comfort anyone around her who was in pain, but her own emotional trauma seemed to be drowning her. She couldn't help but somehow feel selfish as she sat, holding her breath, trying not to cry.

“Sirius,” She began quietly. “Do you think he's dead? Ron?”

He looked at her for a brief moment and the truth was written on his tired face. He took a slow, deep breath, and shook his head.

“I don't know, Hermione,” He replied honestly. “Voldemort isn't known to spare lives.”

She could tell he was thinking of Harry. She wondered what it was like for Sirius; to lose the last remaining family he had, someone he would've given his life to protect but just wasn't given the chance.

“Harry would hav-”

“No,” He interrupted, abruptly rising from his chair. “I don't want to talk about him right now, Hermione. I'm sorry.”

The sound of the door closing behind him as he left, though he shut it softly, sounded like thunder to her ears. The silence of the room was loud and deafening. Hermione stared blankly at the wall for what seemed like hours until her breakdown came and she cried until she fell asleep. Sirius did not return.

 

**6 July, 1995**

“Now that you're all rested, I think it's time we move.”

Conversation had been sparse between her and Sirius over the past few days. They'd kept mostly to themselves, trying to work out their own inner demons, except for occasionally eating together. She'd learned quickly not to bring up Harry because Sirius couldn't talk about him, and she'd realized that talking about Ron only increased her depression. Without that, there wasn't much left to talk about but to plan their move.

“We're going to another safe house The Order made. It's out in the country, should be a bit more peaceful.”

Hermione had already gathered what few things she had, clothes and such, and was standing in the kitchen. Sirius had, very foolishly, returned to The Burrow in the middle of the night while Hermione had slept, to rummage through what was left of the house and try to return some of their belongings.

“The house was all but destroyed,” He'd argued after he returned. “Death Eaters wouldn't have waited around for a week to see if anyone returned. They know we're in hiding. They're looking for us, not waiting.”

She knew he had been right, only an idiot would have went back to The Burrow after the attack, which is exactly why Sirius was capable of getting away with it; The Death Eaters never expected it. It was a brilliantly stupid plan, but it had worked.

As they prepared their things and readied to disapparate, Hermione watched him carefully. She still wondered if, possibly, Sirius had gone back to The Burrow with less intention to get their things and more to verify that Remus wasn't there; or rather his body.

“All right?” He asked.

She nodded in response and took his elbow. Closing her eyes, accepting that she was now _truly_ running for her life, she felt the weightless pull of disapparating and then they were gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has read this far and my only hope is that you're enjoying this whirlwind of a story as much as I enjoy writing it. This is the first Harry Potter fic I've written (minus one when I was, like, 15, but I don't count that one) and it's quite intimidating to write. I have so many plans for this story in the future and I sincerely hope everyone likes it enough to see it through to the end with me. Feel free to leave a review, I love reading reactions! :)


	4. Nightmares and Nargles

**14 July, 1995**

Time was beginning to move slowly. With each passing day, Hermione felt a little more numb. Sirius had done his best, in the beginning, to try to console her, but nothing worked. The days were bleeding into the nights, and the nights came with terror. There wasn't a night where she didn't lie in bed, swallowed in the darkness. Panic and adrenaline swept over her with every noise she heard outside her window. It seemed every creature in the dark, every creak in the house during the night, was a dark witch coming to collect her. And once she had exhausted herself, she would fall asleep and become terrorized by nightmares that grew worse with each passing night.

This night, in particular, cursed her with the worst so far.

She was sitting on her bed in her dormitory at Hogwarts. The room was dark and the air was heavy and cold against her skin, prickling the hairs on her arms and causing her to shiver involuntarily. The room was empty save for herself, but she had the eerie feeling that she was being watched and felt the need to be constantly looking over her shoulder.

Somewhere, outside her room, she heard a quiet scratching noise, like fingernails being drawn across wood. With shaky legs, she stood from her bed. The floor was icy against her bare feet; it was almost as if all of the warmth had been pulled from the room. She tiptoed quietly to the door and opened it with shaking hands. The stairs leading to the common room were void of all light. She reached for her wand and quickly grew more nervous when she realized she didn't have it. The scratching noise echoed up the stairs once more, this time louder than before. Following it was a low, raspy moan; like someone was choking while trying to breathe. Hermione carefully descended down the stairs, fear swelling inside her.

There was a small light in the common room that painted dark shadows across the walls. She froze at the bottom of the stairs, unable to breathe or move. The sharp, metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils and she choked back a gag. The room was devoid of furniture, but in the very middle of the room was a body, only partially visible in the darkness. She recognized the figure, even in the dim light, immediately.

Harry.

Her feet moved before she could think, and without a pause she was running across the room to him. After but a few steps, something warm and slick beneath her bare feet caused her to slip and she fell hard onto the floor. Lifting her hands to her face, ice ran through her veins and she nearly screamed. The floor, and now her as well, was covered in hot, dark blood. She began to violently shake, trying desperately to crawl away from the blood but the floor was too slippery.

"Hermione," A low, raspy voice whispered.

Her heart stopped and she let her gaze fall on Harry's body. It was like something out of hell itself. Blood poured from his nose, his mouth, and even his eyes, and soaked into his clothes. His hair was patchy and coated in mud, like someone had pulled him from the dirt. He began to sputter and choke, and blood sprayed from his lips onto the floor.

"Hermi-" He started to say before his eyes glazed over and he stared blankly at her.

A laugh tore through the darkness and out of the shadows came a figure. His eyes were cold and narrow, though he was smiling. His skin was white and was stretched tight and thin across the bones of his face.

Voldemort.

"This," He said venomously, sharing a look between Harry's blood soaked body and Hermione's pale, terrified face. "Is your future."

Her own screams were what woke her and brought her back to reality; back to her room in the safe house, in the safety of the bed that she lay, with Sirius sleeping in the next room. Her skin was damp with sweat, her hair sticking to her forehead in places, and she was trembling uncontrollably. She buried her face in her hands as a sob escaped her lips, every muscle in her body tightening as she tried so desperately to block the vivid nightmare from her thoughts.

The door burst open and Hermione screamed in surprise, throwing herself against the wall next to her bed. She raised a shaking hand in a weak attempt to defend herself. Her eyes were white and wide with panic and fear, and Sirius, standing in the doorway, raised both hands in the air.

"It's me, Hermione. Sirius," He said slowly, trying to calm her. "It's just me. You're okay. You're safe."

Sirius began taking small steps closer to her as she started to slowly come down from her panicked state. He tread lightly, worried that one wrong step would only reinforce her sleep addled fear. He wasn't entirely sure she was completely awake yet, and was doing his best to carefully ease her state of mind.

"See, now? It was a bad dream," He said softly.

Her breathing was uneven and labored, but she felt herself slowly beginning to calm down. She ran her fingers through her hair roughly and took a deep, shaky breath, nodding her head in agreement with him.

"A bad dream," She repeated slowly. "It wasn't real."

"It wasn't real," He reassured her.

It took her a few minutes before she was able to gather herself enough to get back into bed, still shaking and reeling from the nightmare. Sirius sat on the far edge of the bed and opened his mouth to speak, but the image of Harry's bloody body was still very alive in Hermione's mind and she wanted more than anything to be alone. So she closed herself off from Sirius and turned her back to him. It was unclear to her how long he sat at the end of her bed, like he was protecting her from her own dreams, but eventually he left without a word.

Hermione lay awake until the sun rose.

 

**23 July, 1995**

"Something's wrong," Sirius said, sticking his arm out to force her to stop.

They were standing at the front door of yet another safe house. He placed a finger on his lips, silently ordering her not to make a sound, and raising his wand. From the outside, everything seemed normal upon first glance. Then, Hermione belatedly noticed what Sirius had seen immediately upon their arrival.

A window on the first floor had a spiderweb of cracks etched into the glass and the front door was ajar. Hermione's fingers tightened nervously around the wand in her hand, and Sirius gave her a dark look.

"Remember, only use it if you have to. You still have the trace on you."

She followed him soundlessly to the front door. He stepped just inside the doorway and raised his wand.

" _Homenum Revelio_."

After a brief pause followed by silence, he exhaled loudly.

"There's no one here now."

As they entered the house, Hermione's mouth dropped open. Everything in the room was toppled over. The couch was shredded and covered in holes, the walls were blown apart with holes, and debris and trash littered the floor. A crash sounded from the kitchen and Hermione jumped, nearly dropping her wand. Sirius rushed past her and stopped abruptly just in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Bloody hell!" He shouted suddenly.

A small, lumpy house elf came limping out of the kitchen. His skin was tattooed with lines of scars, wrapping around his arms, face, and neck, and he was missing a large chunk of his left ear. Bandages covered parts of his hands and feet, and his large eyes were exhausted and rimmed red. Hermione let out a small gasp and covered her mouth.

The house elf looked at Sirius and Hermione briefly, his eyes filling with tears before he started shaking his head frantically and stepping backwards away from them.

"Sorry," He choked before there was a loud  _pop_  and he was gone.

"Who would've left their house elf here?" Hermione asked, giving Sirius a worried look.

He had his back to her, though, as he stared at the spot where the house elf had stood. After a few momets, he turned suddenly and began tripping over things in the living room to desperately try and reach her.

"I think he was placed here on purpose," He said, speaking so quickly that his words were running together. "He was a lookout. He's alerting someo-"

But Sirius had figured it out a moment too late. Before he could finish his sentence, two Death Eaters crashed into the living room. Hermione had only a second to identify them before Sirius had grabbed the collar of her shirt and made their escape. One face stood out among the two, burned into her mind. It was a face she was all too familiar with. She had seen it nearly every day for four years. White, blonde hair framing cool skin and contrasted by dark blue eyes.

When they landed, she fell to her knees, breathing hard and trembling all over.

"Draco," She whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

"No," Sirius said, eyes glancing around furiously as he inspected the perimeter of the new location. "It wasn't Draco. It was Lucius."

 

**30 July, 1995**

The sun was setting when the air rippled softly and they appeared on the front lawn of the safe house. Hermione stared numbly at the small, light blue house. She gripped her wand tightly and her eyes darted over every visible inch of the property. From the outside, nothing seemed to be out of place. Hermione shifted the bag on her shoulder, lowering her wand, and began following Sirius to the front door.

"Sirius," She whispered suddenly, stopping cold in her tracks and grabbing the back of his shirt to stop him as well. " _Look!_ "

His gaze followed her pointed finger and his mouth opened ever so slightly. There was smoke rising from the chimney, a fire was lit inside.

"Someone's here," She whispered, a strange mixture of fear and hope building in her chest.

It had seemed like an eternity since they'd had contact with anyone else. No owls had reached them, they'd spoken to no one but each other and even their conversations had been small, not even a scrap of a newspaper had blown their direction. Hermione realized then, staring at the ash colored smoke rising into the darkening sky, that she was so desperate to see another familiar face. Without thinking, she took a quick step towards the house, her eyes sparking in a way they hadn't in weeks.

"No," He said sternly, grasping her wrist gently and holding her in place. "I'm going first. We don't know who's in there. Just stay behind me."

Stupid. Of course he was right. She knew better. This could be a setup. As she raised her wand and followed soundlessly after Sirius, she realized the likeliness that this  _was_  a setup. She reached out to him and placed a firm hand on his elbow, just in the horrible chance that they needed to suddenly disapparate. As they stepped up onto the porch, wands raised in defense, the door flew open.

"This is a pleasant surprise!"

Hermione's mouth fell open and without a second of hesitation she let go of Sirius' arm and dropped her wand. Her head was shaking in awe as she walked in front of Sirius, ignoring his feeble attempts at caution, and stepped feet in front of the blonde haired girl wearing a particularly innocent smile.

"Luna? Luna Lovegood?"

Her blue eyes twinkled in the fading sunlight and she looked from Hermione to Sirius, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Sirius Black?"

Hermione's gaze left Luna and she turned back to look at Sirius who's eyes had grown shadowed and he seemed more apprehensive than usual.  _Oh._ Luna recognized Sirius from the wanted posters. How was she to know that he was innocent and a member of The Order? Hermione turned her nervous eyes back to Luna who, surprisingly, was merely watching the older man with a kind of curiosity.

"He's a member of The Order," Hermione stated, raising both of her hands in defense. "Harry and Dumbledore trusted him, and so do I. It's a lot to explain."

"I've just put on some tea," Luna said, nodding and offering Hermione another sweet smile. "Come inside."

Hermione watched over her shoulder as Sirius made quick strides to catch up with her she walked inside the house. He put a hand on her shoulder, looking down at her with steely eyes.

"You trust too easily, Hermione," He whispered, eyes leaving her face immediately to look around the living room once they were inside. "It could be a disguise."

Luna was crouched at the fireplace, fiddling with a kettle. Hermione noted that her wand was far away, sitting on a small table across the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and, though Sirius was still clearly wary, she felt more at ease with each heartbeat. Luna seemed like... Luna. She wondered if anyone could ever really be able to pose as Luna; capturing her strange essence and wild imagination would be extremely difficult.

"The tea is almost ready," Luna called out, but not to Hermione and Sirius.

"You're not alone?" Hermione asked, her heart thumping out of beat.

Luna peered over her shoulder at Hermione, leaving the kettle alone for just a second, and raised her eyebrows.

"Alone? Of course not," She turned back to the fire, dipping her head in the direction of the kitchen and speaking with a tone light as air. "He's in there."

Sirius moved before Hermione could, but she followed so close to him that her feet nearly caught on the back of his shoes with each step. He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen and Hermione peered around his shoulder to see who the mystery person was.

The next ten seconds seemed to pass in three. All Hermione saw was a man standing with his back to them washing dishes in the sink. The skin on his arms and back of his neck was dotted with freckles and atop his head was a crazy mane of bright, brilliant  _red_  hair.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, the words leaving her lips before her thoughts could catch up with her.

She pushed past Sirius and her stomach dropped as the redhead turned to face her. He was a Weasley, no doubt. His hair was the same shade as Ron's and they shared very similar, distinct family features that only a Weasley  _could_  have. But, as fortune would not grant her the happiness she desired, the man in front of her was not Ron.

" _Luna Lovegood!_ " The redhead shouted, his eyes rolling wildly as he dropped the dishes in the sink with a loud shatter. "For the  _second_  time, you can't let just anyone inside without question!"

"I didn't need to," Her innocent voice wafted in from the living room to the kitchen.

The man's face contorted into a look of stress and disbelief, and he threw his hands up in defeat. He moved swiftly towards the living room, muttering to himself something about his hair turning grey. He paused briefly in front of Sirius and Hermione, seeming to have somehow forgotten they had been standing there.

"Charlie Weasley," He said quickly, furrowing his brows together and giving Luna a warning glare before turning back to them. "I'm going to assume you're not Death Eaters in disguise by the equally shocked expressions on your face right now, and the fact that you haven't tried to kill us, but if you'd excuse me for just one moment I have a  _different_  issue to deal with."

He took a deep breath and pointed his fingers at Luna. She was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, and watching Charlie with the most satisfied and amused look on her face. Hermione's lips slowly twitched into a smile as she watched the two of them. Luna's quirky nature was difficult to understand and cope with at the best of times, and it seemed that this Charlie Weasley was definitely  _not_  yet accustomed to it.

"Luna," He began slowly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Charlie," She teased, her smile beaming wider.

"You have to be more careful," He stressed, eyes narrowing at her though she wore the face of an angel. "Just because someone looks like someone you know does not make it true anymore, you know this."

Luna shrugged, "I knew it was really them."

"How?" Charlie asked, shaking his head and looking upwards dramatically. "How could you possibl-"

"The Nargles," She replied softly, eyes twinkling.

"The Narg-" Charlie started to repeat but put a hand up to stop himself. "Merlin's beard.  _Nevermind._ "

"What the bloody fuck is a Nargle?" Sirius whispered quietly to Hermione, his eyes never leaving the curious blonde girl who began to chuckle to herself.

"No idea," She whispered back, grinning up at his confused face.

Giving up on trying to reason with Luna, Charlie shook his head and made his way back into the kitchen. Hermione noted then how different he looked from Ron and how she could have possibly confused the two at all. Where Ron was tall and lanky, with long arms and longer legs, Charlie was quite a bit shorter. His muscular arms were rippled with veins, old burn marks, and a flurry of thin scars. Of course. Charlie was the brother that worked with dragons.

"Hermione," Charlie nodded, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's nice to see you again. I know you've been through so much. You and Ron were so close... I'm very sorry."

She swallowed hard and had to drop her gaze. Though Charlie and Ron were different in so many ways, standing in front of him now reminded her so much of her best friend. Ron's face flickered in her mind and the bit of happiness she felt moments ago faded quickly. The way he spoke of Ron in past tense, as if he were surely dead, made her heart sink. A small part of her had still been holding on to the pale hope that somehow, somewhere, Ron was still alive.

"He's one of my best friends," She said softly. "Or was, I guess."

Charlie nodded sympathetically before extending his hand to Sirius.

"Sirius Black, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," He said coolly as they shook hands. "Dad informed me you were a part of The Order, been wondering when I'd get to meet you. Impressive, escaping Azkaban."

"Arthur? You've spoken to him recently?" Sirius asked anxiously.

Luna brought the tea into the kitchen and the three of them took a seat at the table while she moved throughout the kitchen gathering teacups. After pouring them all a cup, she then went to the fridge and began rummaging for leftovers, as if reading Sirius' and Hermione's mind.

"About a week ago."

Sirius exhaled with sharp relief, "We weren't sure if he'd made it out. Was anyone with him? Who else have you spoken to?"

Charlie sighed, raking a hand through his mess of hair and eyeing Luna carefully out of the corner of his eyes. She was attempting to balance many things in her arms at once, some of that being two heaping plates of food. He finally pulled his gaze from Luna and shared an exasperated look with Sirius before answering his question.

"Not too many, I've been getting information mostly here and there in passing. Dad, Fred, and George are together. They were here briefly last week, looking for mum and Ginny. That was the first time Luna let in strangers without properly questioning them first," He snipped, cutting his eyes in her direction.

She blissfully ignored his dim annoyance, her face showing no implication she'd even heard him, and sat the plates of food in front of Hermione and Sirius. By no means had the two of them been starving daily, but as neither of them fancied cooking, this was truly the most decent meal they'd had recently. They dug in instantly.

"I knew it was really Fred and George," Luna began, leaning back against the counter. "Wrackspu-"

"Oh, for the love of-" Charlie stammered, flicking his wide eyes dangerously over his shoulder at her, struggling to string his words together. "We are  _not_ having this argument again."

Luna tilted her head to the side, "This isn't an argument."

"As I was saying," Charlie said, narrowing his eyes at her once before turning back to Sirius. "They've been looking for mum and Ginny but, thankfully, they're hard to find."

"Wait," Hermione whispered, dropping her fork onto her plate and giving both Charlie and Sirius worried glances. "Where's Tonks? I thought she and George were together?"

Charlie shrugged, "No idea. She's alive, they found dad and Fred, and George stayed with them. They think she's looking for someone, can't remember who though."

"Remus?" Sirius asked desperately. "Is she looking for Remus?"

Charlie snapped his fingers, "Yes! That was him!"

Sirius' attitude perked and he sat up straighter, "Remus is alive?"

"That," Charlie started. "I don't know. But wherever he is, she's hellbent on finding him apparently."

A small sigh of relief escaped Sirius lips and he sat back in his chair, closing his eyes. Hermione knew he'd been unbelievably worried about Remus, and though they still had no solid evidence that he was alive, this bit of information clearly gave him hope. Hope, in the lonely weeks they had recently endured, seemed to be exactly what he needed.

"There's one more thing," Charlie said slowly, reaching behind him to pluck a newspaper off the counter and dropped it in front of Hermione and Sirius. "This published not too long ago. Hogwarts has a new Headmaster."

She felt the color drain from her face instantly, and she shook her head. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. The name left both of their lips in unison as they read off the page who had been given the position of Headmaster.

"Severus Snape."


	5. Firewhisky

**31 July, 1995**

The previous night had been the most relaxed Hermione had felt since being on the run. She had spent the greater part of the evening with Luna. Though they had not been exactly been friends in school, it had been refreshing and pleasant to be with someone she recognized and trusted. While Charlie and Sirius became acquainted with one another downstairs, Luna and Hermione had retreated to the solitude of the upstairs bedroom to share their own recent experiences and look back on their years at Hogwarts. Luna told Hermione the story of how Charlie had saved her life; a pure luck encounter after she'd nearly been captured by Death Eaters. They, too, had been living in safe houses ever since. Hermione painfully recounted the events at The Burrow and the far too close encounter with Lucius Malfoy. She was grateful for Luna's positive outlook in every possible situation, for it brought them back to their years at Hogwarts. As the conversation had simmered down, the two had fallen asleep easily, sharing the same safe space.

Though her last thoughts had been somewhat happy before sleep beckoned her under, the fear tucked away inside her head came to life in her dreams. Peace, it seemed, wasn't permanent, and Hermione realized this when she awoke drenched in sweat, heart racing and hands shaking. Breathing heavily, she glanced about the room in a panicked state, searching for the Death Eater from her nightmare that was surely watching her sleep. However, the room was quiet and empty, save for Luna's soft breathing as she slept next to her. Hermione let out a deep breath and wiped the sweat from her face with trembling fingers.

Careful not to wake Luna, she gently climbed out of the bed and quietly left the room to find the bathroom. Her heart rate was beginning to steady but her body still held a small tremor as she splashed cold water on her face from the bathroom sink. Her reflection only deepened her growing depression; her face was paler than usual, her eyes bloodshot and tired. The worst, though, were the deep blue circles that had grown beneath her eyes. She looked as lifeless as she was beginning to feel. She quickly turned away from her reflection and stripped her clothes off, deciding a shower might make her feel better. Steam collected in the room and she stepped under the hot water. Her aching muscles, tense from her worsening nightmares and sleepless nights, relaxed wonderfully after a few moments. As her fingers worked shampoo through the dirty knots of her hair, her mind began to wander.

She was still struggling to accept that Snape was now Headmaster of Hogwarts. A place that was once home to her, surely, must be worlds different now. She wondered what life at Hogwarts would be like come September, and what classmates of hers would be brave, or stupid, enough to return.

Draco Malfoy, of course.

She still remembered his last words to her: _I hope the next time I hear of your name, it's an obituary in the The Daily Prophet, though I strongly doubt they'd waste the ink on the likes of your kind._

And Draco had very nearly gotten his wish for her death at the hands of his own father. She shuddered as she remembered the look of disgusted hatred on Lucius Malfoy's face when he'd broken into their safe house not long ago. Thanks to Sirius' quick thinking and even quicker reaction, they'd been able to escape before Lucius could even aim his wand at them. However, the image of realization in Lucius' face as he recognized her was burned in her mind; in the precious seconds his face had flicked from being repulsed to being _excited._ Given just a few more seconds, he would've been happy to kill her. She imagined Draco to be as vile as his father, especially now with Voldemort having taken over.

_He's probably already taken the dark mark_ , she thought as a wave of nausea hit her.

Then her thoughts drifted to Harry and her stomach churned worse. She braced a hand against the shower wall and closed her eyes, thinking for a moment that she might be sick. Since Harry's death, she'd tried not to think about him much. It was a pain embedded so deeply inside of her that it caused a physical ache. Harry had been so _good_ , he didn't deserve a death like he was given. He hadn't deserved any of the tragic things that he'd experienced, beginning with his parents when he was an infant. To his core, Harry had been a wonderful person, and the best friend she could have ever asked for. It truly felt like wherever Harry had gone in his afterlife, he had taken a piece of her with him.

When came the memory of a boy with bright red hair and freckles, she immediately turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. There were only so many sad memories she could handle at once, and Harry and Ron's void in her life wasn't something she could think about at the same time. Choking back the sob that threatened to spill from her throat, she dried her skin with shaking fingers and dressed in stale pajamas. She didn't feel half the relief she had hoped for, but anything was better than nothing. She towel dried her hair as best as she could and resigned herself to bed. When she opened the door, however, the space outside was occupied.

“Sirius,” Hermione whispered.

“'M sorry, 'Ermione,” He mumbled. “Was looking for the loo.”

The words seemed forced and were barely audible. Hermione furrowed her brows and tilted her head as she observed him.

“Are you,” she began carefully. “Drunk?”

“Charlie,” Sirius began, bracing himself against the doorway. “Has a mean stash of Firewhisky.”

Hermione's initial reaction was pure rage. How dare he get _drunk_ when they were on the run for the lives? He was supposed to be protecting her. How much protection could he possibly offer in this state? And then Sirius lost his grip on the wall and stumbled a few steps before sliding to the ground. Hermione sighed and knelt next to him.

“I'll go downstairs and make you some tea.”

She helped him, as much as she could, off the floor and into a seemingly sturdy stance. Without so much as a glance at her, he stumbled against the wall and into the bathroom, shutting the door a little too loudly behind him. She paused briefly, listening carefully for a sound that he had awakened anyone else in the house, but the air was quiet. She exhaled sharply and carried on downstairs. Finding a kettle, she placed water on the fire and took a seat at the table in the kitchen. After a bit, Sirius stumbled into the room and loudly plopped into a chair in front of her. She narrowed her eyes at him .

“Don't give me that look,” he murmured.

“Absolutely unbelieva-”

“-they were my friends,” he choked.

Hermione faltered, her breath catching, “What?”

“James and Lily,” Sirius whispered sadly, shaking his head and staring at a spot behind her, eyes unfocused. “The best friends I could have asked for, and I'm the reason they're gone.”

“Sirius,” Hermione began slowly, softly. “That's not true.”

“It is!” He nearly shouted. “I told them to change secret keeper! It should have been me! I would've died before I betrayed them to Voldemort!”

“I know,” Hermione began, but Sirius interrupted.

“James,” He began, his face wincing into a sad smile as memories surely painted inside his mind. “He used to court Lily every day. We couldn't get him to shut up about her, you know. In the common room, he always managed to find a way to make every conversation about her. Merlin, that bloke; would've died on the spot for a minute of her attention.”

Hermione paused,unable to move, her hand hovering over the handle of the kettle and her back to Sirius as she listened intently.

“And when he finally got her,” He snorted. “He was a different man, y'know; better because of her.”

She heard him cough, attempt to hide a sniffle, and finally she began to move. She pulled the kettle from the fire while Sirius made a half attempt to compose himself. She regarded Sirius carefully, her eyes barely leaving him while she poured the tea. He was quiet until she settled, and then with a shaky breath, he continued his onslaught.

“I'll never forget,” He whispered, his gaze still distant. “It was snowing when he told me... “Lily's pregnant' _,_ he said. He cried, you know. Never seen Prongs cry before, not until Harry...”

_The air was soft, the night quiet. Snow nestled from the sky to the ground, the only sound to be heard was the footsteps of two._

“ _Pregnant?”_

“ _A boy,” James barely whispered._

_Sirius stopped, looking at his best friend softly. James wasn't one to be emotional, seeing him in such a state gave Sirius a swarm of respect._

“ _You're going to be a father, mate,” Sirius spoke easily. “A damn good one.”_

_James raked his fingers through his dark hair and laughed breathlessly, “I'm going to have a son. Me!”_

_The two laughed together briefly before the air seemed to grow thick unexpectedly._

“ _He deserves better than this world. These are dangerous times, we have to protect him,” James spoke quietly._

_Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder and forced his friend to face him, “And we will. We will. Until the end.”_

_James took a deep breath, nodding, “Sirius... We want you to be his godfather; if anything should happen to Lily or I, please, I beg you, take care of him.”_

_Sirius' breath seemed to stop in his lungs, “Me? You're sure?”_

“ _I've never been more sure of anything,” James replied quickly, his gaze confident._

_Sirius' smile spread across his face quickly and he embraced James in a tight hug._

“ _You're going to be a great father, mate. I'd be honored to be his godfather.”_

_They two stood solid, embraced in one another. When finally they separated, James' smile had returned to his face and his worry seemed much less. The happiness on his face made him look much younger, Sirius noted._

“ _What is the little tyke's name?” Sirius joked coolly._

_James grinned, “Harry.”_

The tea had grown cold. Hermione barely breathed, she dared speak a word. She wasn't sure how to process his breakdown, his memories, or the pain he must feel. She had spent the past few weeks so engulfed in her own personal torture that she hadn't given much thought to everything Sirius was surely feeling. He hadn't given her a single glance as he recounted his memory. His eyes stared into the distance, haunted by a time when his world was good. She dared not move or speak. After a few quiet moments, he continued.

“ _Wait until you see him!” James beamed, pulling Sirius through the front door of their cozy home. “Hair like mine.. Looks just like me, I reckon. Lily will tell you otherwise. Handsome, gets it from me, of course. Perfect in every way... and eyes just like his mother's.”_

“ _He takes after me,” Lily said with a warm smile as James and Sirius entered the living room._

“ _Perfect in every way, as I said,” James replied softly as Lily placed a tender kiss on his lips._

_Sirius' attention, however, was on the small bassinet tucked into the corner of the room; nestled by the fireplace. Soft, quiet cries elicited from inside the bassinet brought Lily and James back to attention. Lily moved to Harry, but James easily sneaked an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him, despite her quick attempt to reach for her child._

“ _Wait,” He whispered._

_Sirius crossed the room in a few short steps, but what felt like miles. He could hear the child, almost feel his presence in the air. When finally he reached the child, his breath froze. Harry, but an infant, looked up at Sirius with bright, beautiful green eyes and almost seemed to smile._

“ _Prongs,” Sirius somehow managed to whisper. “He's perfect.”_

_Sirius took Harry's hand softly and felt his small fingers tighten around his. His face grew hot, his chest tight, as he realized he would do anything for this child; this personification of his best friend and his best friend's love. He had no one but the Marauders and Lily, and now... this child. This perfect child._

“ _Hey, Harry,” Sirius whispered, taking in every defining detail of the child's face, though he'd already fallen back asleep. “I'm your uncle Sirius. Your godfather.”_

_A few feet away, Lily looked at James with soft eyes and smiled. She wrapped her arms around his waist and made herself cozy with him._

“ _We're gonna get into all kinds of mischief,” Sirius whispered with a smile._

“ _Padfoot,” Lily scolded dangerously._

_James gave a hearty laugh which startled Harry. He began to fuss, and finally Lily broke away from him and scooped Harry into her arms whispering many a lullaby into his tiny ears. Sirius finally tore his eyes away from Harry and aimlessly made his way across the room to James, whose attention was also on Harry alone. A proud smile rested on the man's face._

“ _You did good, Prongs,” Sirius said, giving his best mate a grin._

“I knew he was special the minute I saw him,” Sirius whispered, his eyes downcast.

“Sirius-”

“-I'm not finished!” He nearly shouted, angry with himself.

“ _He's coming for him no matter what we do!” She panicked, beginning to hyperventilate._

_Lily paced the room. She hadn't slept in days, the proof lay in the bruised circles under her eyes. Her hair was pulled halfway up into a ratty mess and she wore the same clothes from the day before. She raked her fingers across her face and a sob escaped. She choked on her cries, her mind forcing in images of The Dark Lord killing her one and only son. James rushed to her side and pulled her hands from her face, forcing her to look him in the eyes._

“ _This will work,” He said with fierce determination. “We'll take the charm and he won't find us.”_

“ _James,” She sobbed. “He found us three times, he can find us again. He can find Harry.”_

“ _He won't,” James promised fiercely, wiping the tears from his wife's face. “If he ever does, I swear, I'll kill him. He won't touch our son. I will do whatever takes to keep him safe, I swear.”_  
  
Though Lily nodded and agreed, her halfhearted smile and downcast eyes showed her weariness. She wiped her face roughly and buried herself into the couch.

“ _I have an idea.”_

_James, eyebrows pulled together and worry lines etches into his face, but his attention came back to his best friend. Sirius was standing nearby with a thoughtful, determined look on his face._

“ _What?”_

“ _He will expect it to be me,” Sirius whispered, thinking carefully._

_James was confused, almost irritated, “What?”_

“ _I'm your best mate. Voldemort will know I'm your secret keeper,” Sirius whispered, thinking carefully. “It's so obvious. He wants Harry, I'm the first person he's going to find.... Voldemort has made his mind up and someone is betraying us...”_

_Sirius shot James an almost knowing look before continuing, “He could already know it'll be me. Switch it. Give it to someone else, he won't expect that.”_

“ _Absolutely not,” Lily whispered harshly. “Sirius, we trust you more than anyone.”_

“ _I know,” Sirius responded quickly. “He knows that as well. We're doing what he expects. Place it with someone he would never guess and he'll never find it.”_

“ _He may be right,” James said quietly._  
  
“No!” Lily shouted. “We're talking about Harry's life! There's no one I trust more than us, than Sirius.”

_James and Sirius exchanged private glances. Sirius, a pained expression on his face, said everything he needed with just one look._

“ _Trust me, mate,” Sirius said softly. “He's going to know it's me. Give it to someone he won't expect.”_

“ _Who?” Lily cried._

“ _Peter,” Sirius whispered finally._

“I told them,” Sirius choked, beginning to finally break down. “I told them to trust him. I TOLD THEM!”

“Sirius-”

“DON'T!” Sirius yelled. “They're dead because of me. James and Lily are dead because of ME! Harry is dead because of ME! They didn't want to change secret keepers... I pushed it. I thought it was the right thing to...”

Sirius began to sob and collapsed onto the table. Hermione knocked her tea over rushing to his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He fought her off briefly, muttering a slew of curse words, before finally surrendering to his painful memories. She held him as he let his head fall into her shoulder and his cries muffle into her shirt. After a few moments, when her shirt was soaked with the tears of the drunk, tortured man, she ushered him up.

“Lets get you upstairs,” She whispered gently, tugging on him softly.

He groaned, wiped his face carelessly, but moved as she asked. Getting him up the stairs, and without making a ton of noise, was a hard task but finally she had successfully gotten him in bed. She pulled the covers up over him, no longer angry with him for getting drunk.

“I'm sorry,” He muttered, obviously ashamed.

She perched on the edge of the bed and shook her head, “Don't be. We all cope with pain in different ways. I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for you, Sirius.... You can't blame yourself forever.”

“I will,” He whispered, his eyes losing focus once again, as he seemed to do whenever he was in emotional distress. “I deserve to.”

“You don't,” Hermione retorted softly. “Lily and James wouldn't blame you either; you know that.”

“No one knows that,” He answered flatly. “Because they're dead.”

 

**2 August, 1995**

“We could go together.”

Sirius shook his head, “Better for everyone if we split up... less will be captured or killed if they find us. If you see anyone, let them know we're alive. I'll do the same.”

Charlie sighed and nodded, reaching out to shake Sirius' hand, “It was a pleasure to meet you, mate.”

Sirius returned the gesture with respect, “Thank you for being so welcoming. I hope we meet again soon, safe travels.”

Upstairs, Hermione had just finished gathering her things while Luna watched her from her bed. Though they hadn't truly been friends before, being on the same side in this fight made them seem closer than they probably ever would've been. Leaving was more painful than Hermione had imagined it would be, but she trusted Sirius enough to know that he was right. Staying in one place too long was careless and dangerous; anyone on their trail would find them too easily and Lucius Malfoy had made it all too clear that he was after them.

After Hermione finished, she took a deep breath and turned to face Luna. The goodbye was harder for Hermione than she had imagined. The few weeks she'd been on the run with Sirius had been lonely, slow, and dark. Here, with Luna and Charlie, was the closest she'd felt to home since they'd left The Burrow. In the back of her mind, Hermione had known that this wasn't permanent.. However, now that the time had come to leave, her goodbye stung more than she'd expected.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality,” Hermione said slightly awkwardly.

“I'm so sorry for your loss, Hermione,” Luna said softly. “It never felt like the right time to bring it up, but you and Harry were great friends. I always admired you both.”

Hermione's eyes stung hearing Harry's name and she coughed slightly; a pitiful attempt to mask her sadness, “Thank you, Luna. That means a great deal to me.”

Luna moved from the bed and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. It took a few seconds before Hermione returned the affection, but after a moment she relaxed and put her arms around Luna genuinely.

“Harry seemed like a wonderful person,” Luna whispered, holding Hermione tightly. “I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted you to be sad.”

Hermione took a deep, steady breath. She knew Luna was right, but turning off her pain was like turning off the sun. Hermione pulled away from Luna, nodding and giving her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. In her heart, she knew Luna was right; Harry would've _never_ wanted Hermione to grieve as she was. It didn't matter, though. Harry was gone, and the hole he left behind was blindingly obvious.

“I really hope we meet again, Luna,” Hermione said honestly, feeling her chest tighten.

“Oh, I'm sure we will,” Luna replied with a confident smile.

Once outside, Hermione watched Sirius carefully. They hadn't spoken since his breakdown as he spent most of the previous day alternating sleep and being sick in the loo. His face was still pale and worry lines etched into his eyes as he looked off into the distance. Hermione wondered where his thoughts were traveling...

“I do owe you an apology, Hermione” He finally said, still not looking at her.

She touched his arm lightly, “No, you don't. We don't have to talk about it.”

When finally he looked down upon her, his eyes were sad, “That was reckless. It won't happen again. I promise, I'll protect you.”

Their eyes held for a few moments and Hermione seemed to feel his determination. She trusted his word and knew he meant good by his promise. She gave him a nod, wrapped her fingers carefully around his arm, and with a ripple of air they were gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, this story is far from finished! I let it go for a long while as I got busy with work and other things, but it's always in the back of my mind. For those still interested, here's the next chapter. I'll hopefully have the NEXT chapter up in a few days!


	6. Draco

**7 August, 1995**

The sun filtered softly through the open windows into the dining area of the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa perched in her chair at the table across from her son as their house elf brought in lunch. Draco looked particularly pleased this afternoon, despite his fairly heated disagreement with his father only a day or so prior.

“We should go soon to Diagon Alley and get your things for the new year,” Narcissa commented lightly.

Draco pulled his eyes from the newspaper in his hands to nod at his mother, “Sooner than later. Finally, this school will run as it should have.”

“Mmm,” She agreed, seeming to pay more attention now to her food than Draco.

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms as he let his thoughts drift eagerly to the start of term. This year would be much different. Now that The Dark Lord had returned and Snape was headmaster, the school would surely be more agreeable. Though Draco hadn't seen much change so far, as he'd kept mostly to himself over summer break, he knew things had changed. Voldemort had visited the Manor a few times, meetings with his father and other death eaters. Against Draco's wishes, and admittedly his father's as well, his mother insisted he focus on school and refused to let him join in on the meetings yet.

“No!” Narcissa said firmly.

It was one of the only times Draco had ever seen his mother defy his father, but she was very adamant about this. He felt the tension in the room as his parents narrowed their eyes at one another. His mother's hands seemed to tremble slightly and she crossed her arms, lifting her chin. Lucius raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“And why, I might ask, do you feel so strongly against our dear son joining us?”

“He's still a child, Lucius,” Narcissa almost seemed to plead now. “He should focus on school. There will be so much time for him to join and help the cause however he chooses; I insist his education should come first.”

“I am his father-” Lucius began sternly, but was interrupted.

“I have to agree with your wife.”

The voice was somehow cold and agreeable at the same time. The heat seemed to evaporate from the room and even Draco felt a shiver as all eyes turned to face the speaker: Voldemort.

“We weren't expecting you so soon, my lord,” Lucius commented, immediately moving to his side.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Lucius, “Surely you are not implying that I am intruding.”

“No. . . No, never. Absolutely no-” Lucius began to stutter.

Voldemort sneered, “You and dear Narcissa are disagreeing.”

The blood seemed to completely drain from Lucius face now. Even Narcissa, who stood quietly a few feet away, seemed to have lost all confidence in herself. Draco, though thirsty to join the cause, watched the floor nervously.

“Young Draco,” Voldemort whispered, motioning for Draco to step forward but watching Lucius closely.

Draco swallowed, took a breath, and crossed the room in a few short steps. Voldemort assessed his face carefully and he grew uncomfortable with each passing second until finally Voldemort smiled.

“Fear me not, now, Draco,” He whispered. “You want to join us, yes?”

Draco nodded, gaining his confidence.

“Your father has proven himself one of my most loyal followers. I have no doubt that when the time comes for you to take the Mark, you, too, will be as faithful.”

Draco lifted his face. Compliments from The Dark Lord were not something to be taken lightly. His desire to follow his father, to aid the pureblood cause and serve Voldemort, was overpowering. Hearing his master's confidence in his abilities made him proud.

“Your mother is correct, I'm afraid,” Voldemort said with a note of finality. “This world belongs to me now. My followers are vast and loyal. I have no use for inexperienced wizards. For you to be great, I believe, in my following, you need guidance. I have, at my aid, experienced and bright wizards. A child like yourself, at this point, is of no need to me. Learn from the best, at this new order within Hogwarts. It shall be the greatest guidance you could have ever been given. That is where I require you, for the time being.”

The Dark Lord agreeing with Narcissa rather than himself infuriated Lucius, but he was unable to argue from that moment on. Draco, however, still managed a pout every time he thought of his father hunting, as he'd begun to call it. More than anything, he wanted to be working alongside his father, trying to locate all the blood traitors and mudbloods.

There was a crack! in their living area and Draco dropped the newspaper to table just as his father strode into the room. Lucius' pale hair was slightly a mess, his suit astray, but he still somehow held a poised air of sophistication and pride that Draco admired. He sat up straighter in his chair and gave his father a hopeful look.

“Anything?”

“Barely missed them,” Lucius muttered.

“Again,” Draco noted, slightly amused. “If you had me helping, you would've found them by now.”

Lucius shot his son a dangerous look as he dropped tiredly into a chair at the head of the table. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers while his other hand motioned for their house elf to bring him food. Narcissa rose quickly and poured him a goblet of pumpkin juice and he downed it eagerly.

“The confidence of a child,” Lucius began, looking pointedly at Draco. “Is astounding. However, I assure you, Draco, that we are just as capable of our task without your assistance.”

“Yet your results say otherwise,” Draco retorted under his breath, too low for his father to hear.

“We missed the little mudblood and that filthy blood traitor by maybe a day,” Lucius spat.

“Closer than usual,” Draco remarked. “So that's what that.... awful smell is.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at Draco and said sarcastically, “Thank you, son.”

Adding to the tension in the room, Bellatrix strode in. Her hair was a wild mane of curls that seemed to devour her face. She beamed at them, trailing the tip of her wand along the dark oak table as she spoke.

“At least one of us was able to capture one of the traitors.”

“In the most obvious location, I might add,” Lucius argued, pointing his fork in her direction. “You hardly tracked them down.”

Bellatrix sneered, “And while I was securing that little red headed bastard for The Dark Lord, what were you doing, Lucius? Losing a battle with a pathetic half-mutt wolf?”

“Finishing him off, I'd say,” Lucius retorted proudly. “Small chance he recovered from that battle.”

“Either way,” Bellatrix began with a wicked smile. “Only one of us has brought back a reward. . . and mine was one of that little trio.”

Draco clenched his fingers, balling his hands into fists just thinking of them; Potter, Weasley, and Granger. The Golden Trio. He remembered the three of them strutting through the hallways with the audacity that they were better than anyone. Potter, with his pathetic scar, thinking he had a purpose. He even walked as if he were above everyone else. Weasley, and the way he pathetically followed Potter footstep for footstep; Draco was disgusted. Then came the bushy haired, mudblood. Granger. The true dirty blood of the trio, she didn't even realize the infection that she was. She pranced into classrooms, books clutched to her chest and her nose to the sky, assuming already that she was smarter than anyone in the room. Dirt. Trash. The foulest of blood. She shouldn't have even been allowed near the school. He snarled his lip and turned to his father.

“What happened to the slimy little git, anyway?” Draco inquired, the hints of bile rising in his throat recalling the way Weasley doted on the mudblood.

“Oh, he found his place in the new world,” Bellatrix interjected with a chilling laugh.

“Don't concern yourself with that, Draco,” Lucius said, turning his focus back to his lunch. “The Dark Lord has made it clear where he wants your attention for the time being. Have you made plans with your mother to collect your supplies for this term?”

“We were discussing it before you came home,” Narcissa answered softly. “I thought we'd plan for a day when you were free.”

Lucius almost scowled but shook his head, “I don't have the time as you are fully aware. The Dark Lord wants the last of the trio and he grows impatient with each passing week that we haven't caught her.”

“She can't run forever,” Draco sneered.

“Do not underestimate your enemies, Draco,” Lucius warned. “But yes, we will find her, sooner or later.”

* * *

  
Hermione tucked her feet beneath her and blew softly on the hot tea in her hands. The day was warm, the air slightly thick with humidity, and rain fell softly, filling her with the scent of wet grass and earth. She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the rain fall from the sky and dance against the rooftop relax her. She hadn't felt so serene since spending the evening with Luna, but she dared not take the feeling for granted.

The front door to the small house opened and Sirius stepped out to join her on the porch. In his hands he carried his own cup of tea and a newspaper; the first one they had seen since Charlie had shown them the article about Snape. The sight of it reminded her of Hogwarts' new headmaster and she let out a slow breath.

“What do you think it'll be like with Snape as headmaster?” She asked Sirius quietly.

The chair creaked as he took a seat. It took a moment for him to reply as he looked out across the yard and thought very carefully on his answer.

“I think,” He began slowly. “It would not matter who was headmaster. Voldemort has his army. He has his followers. I'm sure he has power over nearly everyone by now. Whomever had taken that position would be working on his orders, as he wants, and not as they themselves want. It is no longer the place we knew.”

Hermione sighed. Just as she had begun to relax, worry once again crept in. What would happen to the world now that Voldemort was in power? Would he kill every muggleborn brought before him? And those he called blood traitors, were they any safer? She couldn't help but fear for the children who should be receiving Hogwarts letters soon... innocent children, what would happen to them?

“Do you think he'll ever be defeated?” Hermione whispered, not daring to look Sirius in the eyes.

“There is always a chance,” He replied softly. “But it is small.”

9 August, 1995

“Stay down!” Sirius shouted.

Hermione used all of her strength to lift her head off the grass. She spit a stream of dirt and blood from her mouth and tried desperately to focus her eyesight, but her world was moving though she was still. Her energy seemed to evaporate and her face fell into the earth once more. Trying to catch her breath, she inhaled a lung full of dirt and began to choke. Her body moved instinctively, fighting for what seemed like absolute survival, and turned herself painfully on her back as she struggled to take in oxygen. She could feel hot, sticky blood drizzling slowly down the side of her face. The gritty feel of dirt ground between her teeth and she opened her mouth, hoping for relief. With a cough, dust blew from her lips and she choked once more. Air exhaled from her lungs in a cloud and, eyes at the sky, she let go. This is what death must feel like. . .

“It's safe,” A voice said, someone who seemed very far away. “Hermione, stay with me.”

The last thing she felt was arms beneath her knees and shoulders, lifting her from the ground.

But the last sight she saw before she blacked out was a brilliant, bright blue sky.

11 August, 1995

Hermione's knees buckled instantly when her feet landed on grass. Sirius grabbed her by the elbow and hoisted her up. She winced, the pain splitting through her ribs.

“I know you haven't had enough time to recover, but we have to keep moving,” Sirius said, briefly searching her face for any sign that she was getting worse.

She felt better, but not good. She could hardly remember when they were attacked a few days ago. Curse after curse flew. Shards of glass embedded in her face, she was struck in her ribs by a spell, and somehow along the fight she had busted a gash in her lower lip. Save for her physical injuries and mental well being, she was physically fine. Only moments after she was on her feet, another voice dropped her stomach. She reached for Sirius out of instinct.

“Don't move! WANDS UP!”

Hermione gripped her wand tighter, against the command of the harsh voice. Sirius, almost instantly, wrapped an arm around her and pushed her roughly behind him. She paused for a breath before peering anxiously around his shoulder. Why haven't we disapparated? She wondered nervously. The man across the yard, tight faced and wand aimed at them, was familiar.

“Kingsley,” She hushed quickly. “It could be a trap.”

Kingsley moved a few feet closer but his wand never lowered. He instead fashioned it a few inches to the left and aimed at Hermione's face, “Who gifted Harry with his Firebolt?”

Sirius and Hermione's lips moved together and their answered came out in unison.

“Sirius.”

“Me.”

After the longest of breaths, Kingsley lowered his wand and a hint of a smile rippled across his face. Sirius sighed deeply and the two men crossed the yard in long strides to shake hands. Hermione followed Sirius with shaky legs, somehow embarrassed by how dirty and ratty she looked.

“Gotta say, I'm glad to see you two alive. We haven't heard much, wasn't sure if you'd made it,” Kingsley said once they were seated inside.

“It's not been easy, but we've been lucky,” Sirius replied.

“Hermione, why don't you go upstairs and shower? I'd like to talk to Sirius in private,” Kingsley asked politely.

She dismissed herself, grateful for a moment of peace, and let the two men speak alone. Once she had left, Kingsley let his guard down and blew out an exasperated sigh.

“It's getting worse,” He said.

“I know,” Sirius replied. “I can tell. We haven't seen anyone, except Charlie Weasley and Luna Lovegood, in nearly a month.”

Kingsley shook his head, his eyes cast down, “You don't understand. The ministry has fallen. Fudge is carrying out Voldemort's orders, as Snape will be at Hogwarts. Everyone seems to be following him, either out of loyalty or fear.”

Sirius was quiet. A single boy with dark hair, glasses, and a scar for proof of life had given Voldemort enough fear to know he had challenge. Now that Harry was gone, Voldemort had free reign. There was no savior.

“And Dumbledore?” Sirius asked quietly, hope seeming to fade from him with each passing thought.

“Not a word,” Kingsley answered swiftly. “He hasn't made contact with anyone.”

So many questions hung in the air between the two men. Was Dumbledore even alive? If he was, where was he? What was he doing, and why hadn't he contacted anyone? Sirius rested his face in his hands and took a deep breath, thinking of the best way to move forward. Upstairs held one of the brightest witches of her generation; a loyal friend, an intelligent mind, a careful witch, someone Voldemort wanted dearly. How could he protect her when every obstacle in their world was against them?

“How do we proceed?” Sirius asked finally.

“We haven't given up,” Kingsley assured him. “There are still those in the resistance, though they are few. But until we are all gone, we have even a slight chance. I wish I had a plan, but right now I feel everyone's only focus is on staying alive. Keep moving. Never stay in once place too long. Don't let them find you.”

**12 August, 1995**

“We can't stay here long, maybe but a day,” Sirius said with warning. “Try not to move too much. This is a muggle home, one I stayed in once before. The family is on vacation.”

Hermione dropped her bag next to the couch and looked at Sirius with worried eyes, “Why aren't we using the safe houses?”

Sirius tore his fingers through his hair, openly distressed, “There's only so many safe houses, Hermione. The Order is trying to make new spaces and leaving clues behind for those of us who know how to find them but eventually they run out or they're compromised. This is a safe house, for now. Go upstairs and shower, I'll wash your clothes.”

**13 August, 1995**

“Ready?”

Hermione, perched with her small bag on her shoulder, looked at Sirius worriedly. Though she trusted him, he'd yet to seem so rushed. He had been more particular here than anywhere else; leave behind no trace of hair, bed slept in, or even so much as a couch cushion moved.

“Sirius,” She whispered. “What are you not telling me?”

Sirius sighed and turned to face her with steely eyes, “The Ministry is down, Hermione. Voldemort is in control of everything, and no one has heard from Dumbledore. Your only chance at surviving, right now, is to run. We have to keep moving and be more careful that we aren't leaving a trail.”

“And then what?” Hermione asked, almost defiantly, refusing to take his arm. “Is this the rest of our lives? We run forever? Never in one place too long, scared to even drink from a cup without washing it because someone might use it to find us....”

In all her years, in all her fears about Voldemort coming to power, somehow this never seemed like her future. In some ways, she almost wished she had died with Harry or with Ron. . . It seemed more plausible. But living her life on the run, moving from place to place only hiding from death, never appeared in her nightmares when she dreamed of Voldemort's future. This was really her life now? There must be more.

While Sirius admired her defiance, he knew it foolish, “Right now this is your life, Hermione. And if you wish you to see tomorrow, my advice is to take my arm and move with me. Someday, it may be different, but today is not that day.”

Hermione dropped her gaze, knowing he was right, and once more grabbed his arm and let him pull her into another place.

**15 August, 1995**

With each passing day, she was growing more tired. Though it had been a month, it seemed like a year. No contact from the outside world, but in passing, made Hermione anxious. She worried more and more every day about the safety of everyone she held dear. What were the odds that they had moved so much that they hadn't seen anyone? Surely they should have stumbled across someone by now. Where were Remus and Tonks? Where were Molly and Ginny? The Twins? Arthur? Anybody? Somebody?

“Hermione?”

She nearly slammed the two plates into the sink and broke them entirely. Her fingers instantly pulled her wand from her pocket, knuckles growing white with the tightness in which she held. Her breath seemed to stop completely as she forced her feet to move from the kitchen into the living room, arm extended and wand pointed albeit shivering in the direction of Sirius' seemingly frantic voice.

Her heartbeat faltered, knees nearly giving in the same breath. Before her, in the flesh, stood the greatest sight she had beheld in months. Tattered, torn clothes, and dirt stricken faces, but she could never overlook the fact that three men standing before her we Weasleys.

“Merlin,” She choked. “You're alive!”


	7. Bloody Malfoy

**15 August, 1995**

 

The air seemed to leave her lungs as the words touched her lips. Without thinking, she dropped her wand, stumbled toe over heel, and wrapped her arms around the two closest Weasley's she could reach.

“Merlin!” She choked once more.

“Alas, just me,” Fred chortled.

“Although I hear the resemblance is uncanny,” George snorted.

“Oh, s _hut up!_ I'm just glad you're alive!”

When finally she had the relief to break free from the twins, her eyes found Arthur Weasley. What once was a man with a bright face and kind smile, now bore worry lines Hermione hadn't noticed before and his hair seemed slightly grayer. She softened as their eyes met and when he enveloped her in a tight embrace, he felt like home and smelled like Ron. Her eyes began to burn involuntarily and she buried her face in his shirt. It only reminded her more of the young boy she missed so greatly. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, swallowing her emotions just as he broke their hug.

“I'm so happy to see you all,” she whispered gratefully.

“Oi, Hermione! You'd think this were a funeral!”

“ _George!_ ” Arthur scolded immediately.

Fred's eyes swept the room quickly before whispering to George, “If this were a funeral, we'd at least have flowers.”

“That is _enough_ out of you two!” Arthur said, although even he couldn't hide the hint of a smile on his face.

After attempting to make dinner for the group, interrupted every so often by Arthur demanding Hermione explain the use of a toaster and even once a microwave, they found themselves seated around the fire in the living room. Hermione sat on the floor, her back to the couch with the twins on either side of her, while Arthur and Sirius respectively sat in chairs opposite them. Until this point, the conversation had been light and everyone had seemed to tiptoe around the burning questions. The fact that they had gone two and half hours without any mention of Ginny and Molly tore Hermione's stomach to shreds and made her more sick with each passing moment. Even the humor from Fred and George couldn't bandage the poison seeping into the conversation. Finally, Hermione ripped the bandage off.

“Is there any word on Ginny?”

Her fingers wove knots from her hands and she dared not even look at Arthur while she awaited his answer, though she knew the truth. The truth was etched in his face like tattoos; deadly marks on a man who believed his wife and only daughter to be dead.

“Nothing yet,” He whispered. “We've been looking, and we haven't given up hope.”

“I'm sorry,” She replied quietly, her voice but a whisper.

After a few solemn moments, Sirius spoke, “And Remus?”

“I don't know,” answered Arthur honestly. “Nymphadora is searching for him. That's when I found the boys.”

“You should be so lucky,” Fred quipped with a quirk of his brow.

Hermione could tell by the narrow of his eyes that the boys humor annoyed Arthur, but she also knew he needed it in the way that he didn't reprimand them. Sure, their jokes were unnecessary at some points, but everyone desired something that tasted like _home_. Fred and George and their ridiculous humor and jokes were home.

At first, no one dared mention Ron, and, for that, Hermione was grateful. The fact that Ginny and Molly were unaccounted for was enough turmoil, she knew better bringing up Ron. But as she sat laughing at Fred and George, surrounded by Weasley's, she found herself often looking to her right whenever a joke made; looking to catch her best friend's reaction. It had become habit, at this point. There was no other moment in her life where she was surrounded by Weasley's and Ron wasn't there. One recounted memory was all it took: Fred and George were deep into a story, retelling a time when they had played the _ultimate_ prank on poor Molly, mixing her dinner stew with a bit of burly boil potion, and Ron took the fall. Maybe they didn't even realize the story involved Ron, as they seemed to be preoccupied with the fact that every Weasley spouted a particularly nasty case of boils immediately from lips to forehead. Maybe they weren't aware of the consequences of bringing him up, or maybe they were just trying to be funny and got carried away. But when Hermione heard his name, pictured his face in her mind, her world dizzied.

“Excuse me,” she whispered, rising from the floor, sure she would vomit before she made it upstairs.

Thankfully, no one tried to stop her. She was sick three times before finally she found her bed and stared at the ceiling for hours before sleep mercifully pulled her under.

 

**18 August, 1995**

 

It had been two days since she last saw the Weasleys. Once again, staying together proved to be more dangerous than separating, and Hermione could tell Arthur was anxious to scour for hints of Molly and Ginny. Hermione stared out the window, watching the drizzle of rain fall from the the leaves that were just beginning to burn orange, and hated everything. She hated separating. She hated not having news. She hated running, and, _Merlin_ , she hated hiding. The same question bore in the back of her mind every day, growing stronger like cancer: How long could they keep this up?

What were the options? Hermione knew running forever wasn't possible. Statistically, it was almost impossible. So where did it end? Who could possibly bring an end to Voldemort?

She twirled her wand between her fingers as her thoughts ran wan wild. The brightest witch of her age, they had said... and now she sat scared with a wand that as useless to her as the rain that fell in front of her.

 

**20 August, 1995**

 

_Where is Sirius?_

How did they lose each other? How could she be so _stupid?_ It had taken two breaths. Sirius had apparated them in the woods just outside of their safe house, but the enemy was waiting. As soon as Hermione's feet hit the ground, blasts of red and green shot towards the two of them. Hermione screamed, panicked, and dove to her right.

_Sirius._

Her feet caught on a tree root beneath her, and her face slammed to the ground before the next scream could leave her lips. She tasted blood and inhaled a lung full of dirt. Her fingers bore into the ground, nails digging deeply into the soil, and she pushed her face up, choking and grasping desperately for air. She could hear her name being called from far away, but it felt like miles. Dirt. Oxygen. She coughed; dirty, brown spit flying from her mouth as she choked and flying down her chin while her chest convulsed, begging for air. Her stomach heaved, and though her vision spun, she reached desperately for her wand. When finally she coughed the last bit of dirt from her lungs and aimed her wand, she saw a pair of wild, gray eyes looking down upon her. Before she could cast a spell, before she could think clearly, Sirius nearly fell over her, bloody faced and wide eyed, and disapparated them.

 

**21 August, 1995**

 

Draco felt particularly smug as their house elf carried his new school robes and other belongings upstairs to his bedroom. He and his mother had spent the day at Diagon Alley retrieving all of supplies for the next term, which he was explicitly excited to see.

“Thank you, mother,” Draco commented, plucking fruit from the kitchen counter.

“Of course, my lov-”

A _crack_ interrupted them, and they both turned to address Lucius. He seemed quite disheveled, with twigs in his hair and his robes astray. His eyes were wild as he threw his wand on the table and cursed beneath his breath.

“ _So_ close,” he muttered angrily.

“Lucius,” Narcissa breathed. “Are you hurt?”

“Hurt?” He spat. “No, of course not. I'm fine.”

“They got away again,” Draco noted, leaning against the counter and arrogantly raising an eyebrow. “Told you that you should have asked for my hel-”

“You are a _child!_ ” Lucius yelled, losing his temper and yanking Draco's collar until the two were but inches apart. “You are a child, and you will act in a child's place. The Dark Lord wants you to study, boy, so shut your mouth and read your books until we ask for input. Don't think your opinion weighs with the likes of us until you're grown enough to wear our mark.”

Lucius' furiously shoved Draco backwards into the counter. He winced as the wood connected with his spine. Narcissa reached for Draco instinctively, but Lucius' voice intervened.

“Draw me a bath,” he spat at her. “I need the stench of trash washed off of me.”

Draco watched as his mother bowed her head, turned her face from her own son, and left the room.

“I'm sorry,” Draco whispered, eyes downcast, ashamed to displease his father.

Lucius ran his fingers roughly through his hair and grimaced, “You'll learn, Draco, with time. I'll teach you.”

 

**22 August, 1995**

 

“It's become obvious that you can't seem to get the job done, so the Dark Lord has sent us, instead.”

Lucius fumed, pacing the large dining table anxiously. For over a month he had been tracking the little mudblood and only twice had he come close enough to capture her. Both times, however, the blood traitor defended her and, as much as he _loathed_ to admit it, managed to escape him. The Dark Lord's spy did well by handing out information on safe houses the Order could be hiding in, and it had proven true so far; every place Lucius and his fellow Death Eaters visited showed signs of recent habitation. Still, finding these safe houses didn't prove as difficult as finding them at the _right_ time; and the two times he had, he had been unsuccessful still.

Bellatrix sneered, “Disappointed? I would be. . . to embarrass myself as you have, well-”

“Mind your tongue, Bellatrix,” Lucius warned dangerously. “This is my manor. You will not disrespect me in my own home.”

“Oh, dear Draco,” Bellatrix purred, unaffected by Lucius' hostility, instead turning her attention to the youngest of Malfoys. “I do hope you're paying attention. Your time is coming, you know. Soon enough, you'll be one of us.”

“When the time is right,” Narcissa's voice infiltrated the air softly. “That time is not now. Draco, upstairs. You can dwell over your books for this term.”

“Mother-”

“ _Now_ , Draco.”

With narrow eyes and his head cast down, Draco reluctantly carried himself upstairs. He shut his door a little too roughly and threw his wand on his bed. _How dare she?_ He had as much right as anyone to listen to their plans. While a small part of him knew she meant well, it unnerved him still. Draco knew he could be of help in finding Hermione Granger. As a matter of fact, he felt arrogantly sure he could catch her before anyone else. After all, he was the only one who knew anything about her. Oh, what he would give to be the one to deliver her to the Dark Lord. . . the devastated look on her face would be well worth it.

He plopped on his bed just as their house elf apparated into his bedroom.

“Bloody hell!” He shouted. “What did I _say_ about doing that, Tippens?”

“Oh! Master Malfoy!” Shouted the small house elf, flinging her face to the floor so abruptly that her head made an audible _thump_ on contact. “Tippins is greatly sorry, she is! She only came to get Master Malfoy's laundry, she did! Tippins is so very sorr-”

“Enough,” Draco hissed, narrowing his eyes at the pathetic creature. “The laundry is in the pile over there. Get it and get out.”

Draco exhaled out of annoyance as he watched Tippins stumble across the room, gather his laundry, and disapparate.

“Annoying little git,” he muttered hatefully.

He kicked one of his school books beneath his bed angrily. The audacity of it all. He was _not_ a child. He was as ready as anyone to take the Dark Mark and do the Dark Lord's bidding as asked. His confidence in himself blistered slightly as he thought of the time during third year when Granger had laid a fist to him. . . his face flushed in rage, the memory flaming a deep hatred, and he _swore_ , in that moment, that he would make her regret ever daring to touch him.

“Foul little mudblood bitch,” he cursed, yanking his book from under his bead and tearing it open roughly enough to rip the first three pages. “Just wait.”

 

**23 August, 1995**

 

A deeply unsatisfied hiss filled the room. The air seemed to grow colder, and those around the table shivered, though the fire in the hearth burned brightly.

“Dare I say, you are attempting to _argue_ with me? As if _I_ am wrong, Lucius. . . as if you have any rightful place to question me. . .”

Lucius felt his very spine tremble, “My Lord. . . We have had but little time. A month or so-”

“Nine weeks, I have given you, Lucius,” Voldemort interrupted, his gaze abruptly piercing the man. “Nine weeks, and what have I to show for your _hard_ work? Nothing. No, as I stated before, Bellatrix and Alecto will be in charge of returning the girl.”

From across the table, Bellatrix seemed to beam, spotlighting her rotten, chipped teeth. Lucius felt sick merely looking at her. He _knew_ he could find the bitch, it was only a matter of time. However, he also knew the Dark Lord was growing impatient, just as Bellatrix had warned. He commanded the Ministry, he had killed Potter, and his followers had captured one of the trio. . . but the Granger girl was still at large. Lucius knew this missing link, although Voldemort's army was strong and devoted, still made him seem slightly weak. If, with thousands at his command, he couldn't find _one_ girl, how powerful was he, truly?

Lucius glared across the table at Bellatrix who seemed deeply unaware of his presence, “As you wish, my Lord.”

Draco, peeking around the corner and holding his breath as if it made him less easy to detect, ducked his head. He made a silent, swift effort to leave his spy session but found himself face to face with his narrow eyed, angry mother.   
  
“Draco Malfoy,” she hissed quietly. “Just what do you think you're doing?”

“Mother,” Draco whispered indignantly. “Why aren't you in the meetin-”

“ _Narcissa!_ ” His father shouted from the room loud enough to make the both of them jump.

Draco hardly noticed the shift in her eyes; the way one moment she looked angry at him, then concerned, before her eyes almost seemed to gloss over and she spoke immediately.

“Draco, upstairs,” she whispered, before brushing past him into the room where sat the meeting of how to finally capture Hermione Granger.  
  


**23 August, 1995**

 

Miles away, hidden within the sanctity of magical charms, Hermione sat on the grass in the back yard. In front of her lay two large tubs: one of water and one of soap. The sun baked her shoulders as she bent over the tubs and worked furiously again. In her hands she held the blood soaked clothes of Sirius. She had tried diligently for three days to scrub out the stains. In a warm room, tucked safely inside the house, Sirius lay recovering.

Her fingers were red, raw, and blistered. She glanced at her wand which sat but a few feet away and swore under her breath. Surely there was a spell to fix this, but it was useless. She couldn't use magic because of the trace. As her eyes fixated on the vinewood wand cast aside, her eyes burned. Useless. Everything she had studied and worked for seemed absolutely pointless now.

Now, sweat poured from her brow and her elbows were deep in soapy water while her fingers bled from working the fabric for the hundredth time. The blood will come out. The blood _will_ come out.

“Hermione.”

The tub spilled as she lurched forward; the voice igniting a panic inside of her that made her reach instinctively for her wand. After but a moment of frantically attempting to crawl over the tub, her wide eyes flashed to the voice she knew she recognized.

Sirius stood in the doorway, watching her very carefully. The bandages she had placed around his forehead and ribs still lay in place and his face was pale, but this was the first time he had been conscious since they arrived.

“Your clothes,” she managed, slipping in the soapy water as she tried to push herself off the ground. “I can't get. . . I can't get it out!”

Sirius winced as he moved closer, “Hermione, pull yourself together, for the love of Merlin!”

She shut her eyes tight, her small fists closing tightly around the wet clothes that lay beneath her, “I. Can't. Get. The. Blood. Out.”

“I can't. . I can't!” She screamed now. “The blood won't come out. Ron is gone. Harry is dead. And I can't get _blood_ out of your clothes!”

“You can't repair this!” Sirius yelled. “Get up! You're acting like a child! For the love of Merlin, pull yourself together!”

As she moved her gaze from Sirius, standing injured before her, to the soaking wet, bloody clothes that she had tried so desperately to fix for three days, she had to finally accept the truth.

The damage was done.

Ron was gone.

Harry was dead.

The blood wouldn't come out of his clothes.

 

And no amount of scrubbing, magic, or pretending would change the truth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! I hope you enjoyed it!


	8. The Sacred Dinner

**24 August, 1995**

Sirius had drained all of his energy spending twenty-seven minutes collecting Hermione from his wet, blood soaked clothes. She seemed slightly hysterical and definitely in shock. Thankfully, and just in time for him to pass out once more, Sirius had been able to calm her and talk her back into the house.

The clothes remained out in the hot sun to bake and decay.

She had spent the entire next morning wandering around the house in a guilty frenzy, driving herself nearly to the brink of insanity once more. She felt _so_ _foolish_ , letting her emotions get the best of her. Yet she found herself once more on the verge of hysterics, this time out of embarrassment, unable to control her emotions. She ran about the house all morning; scrubbing dishes that were already clean, wiping counter tops already without a spic of dust, that is, until she heard Sirius call her name.

The rag fell from her hands immediately and within seconds she had thrown herself into his room.

“Yes?” She nearly shouted, flustered.

“We need to talk,” He simply stated, pushing himself into an upright position.

She huffed, entering the room and taking a seat in a chair in front of his bed, “How long have you been awake?”

“A while,” He replied. “I've been thinking.”

“About what?” She said quietly after a moment.

“Hermione,” He said, looking into her eyes concerned and determinedly. “You need to understand something. You are a child, yes, but the time of being a child is over. There is war, darkness, and horrible things happening outside of this house. You need to understand that, be prepared, and be able to handle it.”

There was a pause as he thought carefully about his next words before he continued, “You have endured a pain and hardship that I truly understand. I do. I've been where you are. I lost my best friends at my hands. I was sentenced for that crime for which I didn't commit. I watched my entire world crumble around me within a matter of hours. . . And I spent years of my life living with pain and regret that I will never get back. You don't have to live like that, Hermione.”

Her eyes burned and she dared not look at him, but he continued, “I should be doing more than running you from house to house. I should be _teaching_ you. Not spells, no, but the few things you are able to learn. The things that I wish I didn't have to teach you. . .”

His next words were harsh but honest and while she hated him for it, she also respected him, “You can't destroy yourself over bloody clothes. You can't blame yourself for mangled bodies. This is war. This is the _embodiment_ of war. All the pain and suffering you feel. . . you are entitled to it. But as long as we are fighting, you cannot lose yourself. You must find it within yourself to fight, Hermione. The enemy is trying to break you in every way that they can.”

“Crying is understood, in these times, and you have earned that,” He said sternly, sitting straighter. “But if you must cry, then cry standing.”

 

**25 August, 1995**

 

“Draco!”

“Yes?” Draco muttered, strolling from the dining room into the kitchen.

“Tippens is nearly done baking the pasties and the guests should be arriving soo-” She huffed, placing a hand on her hip and narrowing her eyes at him. “What _are_ you wearing?”

“Closhes?” He managed, speaking with a mouth full of food.

Narcissa shook her head and pointed a bony finger at him, “Absolutely not. Now, your father and I have been planning this dinner for weeks now. Toss that food and get upstairs and change, NOW!”

Draco had the nerve to glare at his mother briefly before he spit the food from his mouth to his hand and tossed it to Tippens. He could still hear Narcissa's outrage from upstairs.

“This bloody dinner,” He muttered, flicking through his closet lazily.

The sacred twenty-eight dinner. His mother had been doting on it for quite some time, now. As if Draco Malfoy saw it fit to attempt to impress anyone at this point, not limited to the sacred twenty-eight. How many times had the Dark Lord visited any of _their_ homes? As far as he was concerned, his family was the pinnacle of royalty. If anything, he should stand at the door and turn anyway any member that doesn't exude the air belonging in their manor.

Alas, he cursed to himself and yanked some of his finer robes from his closet.

Much to his pleasure, at least, not all of the pureblood families had been able to be in attendance. Actually, most were getting their children ready for the next term or busy working for Voldemort. To Draco's satisfaction, only a few were to be attending this evening.

Praise Merlin.

Once finally Draco had forced himself downstairs, he stood in their foyer with his mother and father over his shoulder, greeting every family that entered.

First and foremast was Amycus Carrow. He arrived fifteen minutes early and entered the room gripping his wand as if the Malfoys themselves were waiting to fight him. His eyes were wide, dark, and dangerous, yet Narcissa courted him into the kitchen for food easily.

Next, more calmly, was the Nott family. Draco held his head high as they entered the room, each pausing to shake hands or peck cheeks. The Nott's were a fairly high ranking family, although you couldn't much tell by the looks of the youngest, Theodore, who was near Draco in age but far in mindset.

Draco winced and looked to his father for unrequited help as the Parksinsons arrived. He kissed the back of Pansy's hand because it was required, but used his grip on her to quickly force her into the next room.

“Marcus Flint,” Draco spat with a grin, ignoring all manners. The two boys shared an equally nasty grin before Lucius put a hand on Draco's shoulder, reminding him to be _courteous_.

And just in time, because no sooner had Marcus and his parents departed did the Greengrass family enter in. In hushed whispers the Greengrass family bore a reputation for rebutting the Dark Lord at the time of his suspected demise. There had been questions once, asked behind closed doors, of course, of their loyalty. However their pureblood nature, to everyone's notice, had proven true. Still, it gave Draco great pleasure to hold his nose in the air as he looked down upon Daphne Greengrass and her sister Astoria, as he welcomed them into his home.

“OH! Master Malfoy,” Muttered Tippens quickly. “Pulling your chair, I was! Ready for you to sit-”

“Out of my way, you foul little creature,” Spat Malfoy, seating himself in his chair.

Lucius Malfoy, of course, sat at the head of the table. To his left sat his wife and to his right, his son. The remaining families were dispersed among the table. Unfortunately, for Draco, somehow, Pansy Parkinson had ended up seating directly to his right.

Though it seemed as if all the guests had arrived, Draco noticed how his father quipped an eyebrow and watched the door as if waiting for another guest. Time didn't seem to allow it, however, as Narcissa strode briskly into the room.

“Dinner.”

 

* * *

 

“Tell me, Amycus,” Lucius began as Tippens placed bits of their apple roast on his plate. “Have you any news?”

Amycus seemed to beam, “Oh, yes. The Dark Lord has requested my sister and I at Hogwarts this semester.”

“Wonderful!” Lucius exclaimed, giving Draco a smile. “You children may actually learn something of value this year.”

“Oh, yes,” Pansy spoke out, out of place in a conversation that was clearly meant for adults. “Hogwarts will be so much bett-”

Her father cut her off with a stern look and before anyone could speak, Tippens began shoveling food onto Pansy's plate. It was almost as if even the house elf wanted her to stop talking.  
  
“I daresay,” Lucius began. “This shall be the best year that this school has seen.”

As they were eating, the adults laughing among themselves and toasting their firewhisky, a late follower quietly entered the room. No one noticed at first; it was as if his black cloak hid him from everyone. Or maybe it was the way he could walk without making noise, move seemingly without disrupting air. . .

“Severus,” Lucius noted.

Draco paused briefly, wondering how on Merlin's green earth Snape had been landed an invite. . . He wasn't a member of the sacred twenty-eight. . . then it dawned on him. Before him was his new headmaster.

“My apologies,” Severus began quietly, still standing before the table. “My invite was on time. However, I had business to attend to.”

“Oh, but a busy man you must be,” Lucius commented, motioning for the table to make room. “Find yourself comfortable, Severus.”

“We are _so_ thankful you could join us, Severus,” Narcissa commented, motioning for Tippens to attend to him. “We were worried you would you be to busy to attend, as the new headmaster.”

“A great achievement,” Lucius said, raising his glasses to everyone at the table. “To Severus; may he guide and teach our children in the true way no one before has.”

Even Severus seemed uncomfortable, his cloak pulled nearly to his chin, as he drew his place at the table. He eyed them curiously, though Narcissa was more determined to have a good evening.

“Headmaster,” She began, moving the food around her plate carefully. “What are your plans for the coming term? Many things will be changing, yes?”

Severus looked at his full plate of food without lifting his fork for a bite and glanced about the table, “As the Dark Lord pleases, yes. There will be many changes what with professors and curriculum.”

There was a moment of silence while everyone looked at Severus anxiously. He seemed to be aware of the attention as his eyes flicked from the food to the surrounding families; so many families, so anxious for information. Draco pierced a bit of pork with his fork and watched Snape carefully, also eager for any news depicting what could be expected next term.

“We have been graced with many new professors,” Snape began, though the way his eyes fell one would think he were talking to himself. “Some studies, such as Muggle Studies, Astronomy, and Divination, have been canceled, understandably. Instead, introducing Dark Arts once again, and pushing emphasis on Alchemy and, lastly, Transfiguration.”

“Incredible,” Lucius hummed, giving Draco a pleased glance.

Mrs. Greengrass spoke next, hardly meeting Severus' gaze, “Is there any word on the captives? For it was mentioned. . .”

“If your burning question is what I think, the answer is yes,” Severus said slowly, carefully. “If you have taken ownership of any mudblood or traitor, you may command them to Hogwarts with your child. We have arranged private quarters for the servants and assured boundaries so their magic shall be prohibited upon entering. Though compliance should be of little concern, as their mark has already proved to be most successful in order.”

Draco watched them sharply, almost jealous as he had not a prize to claim. Pansy seemed to nearly squirm in her seat. Daphne and Astoria shared careful glances, but looked neither pleased nor unhappy. The Flints and Notts seemed more irritated, most likely that they had not a captive to take. And Amycus, who sat alone near the end of the table, merely grinned with a bit of the apple pork stuck between his teeth.

Draco looked away from him, disgusted. With the term beginning in a few weeks, he worried only, now, that he would be the only pureblood without a servant to accompany him.

 

**29 August, 1995**

Sirius dipped the bit of potion into the sink for the third time as it bubbled and hissed.

“We'll try it again.”

“This is NO use!” Hermione nearly shouted. “I _need_ my books! The recipes are perfect, I just can't complete them correctly without the right ingredients and the recipe!”

“You WILL!” He nearly yelled, shoving the cauldron towards her.

“I knew a girl once,” Sirius said quietly, regaining himself. “Who was so spectacular at brewing that she nearly need not a recipe or the finest ingredients. Hermione, think beyond the books. Someone, far out there, made recipes with but nothing at their fingertips. . . potion making is slight. You _can_ make your own rules.”

“You cannot make your own rules!” Hermione gushed, tossing aside the one bottle of dried stink worms that Sirius had somehow acquired. “Potion making is simple. It's recipe. It's word-for-word.”

“No, it's not,” Sirius said, grabbing Hermione's shoulders and forcing her to face him. “Someone, somewhere, made the first potion. They found their own ingredients, with what they could work, and they made something. This is what you have. You are the brightest witch of your age. You don't need a recipe, you need only your mind.”

“Sirius,” Hermione said carefully with her head down. “To make the potion you want, we're missing all of the ingredients. The sloth's brain, the infusion of wormwood-”

“I'm not telling you to make the same potion, Hermione, but you are intelligent enough to make _something_ out of what we have. Use your resources. Every wizard, at one point, started at ground zero. Forget your books and _brew the damn potion_.”

Hermione stared into the empty cauldron, almost no ingredients on the counter next to her, and wondered how in the hell she was expected to brew anything. But, with shaking fingers, she began carefully entering ingredients.

 

**30 August, 1995**

 

“Keep practicing the potions,” Sirius said, still slightly wincing from his injuries.

“I will,” Hermione promised, though her confidence still lacked. She couldn't be truly confident with herself without a book to prove her right. “Lie down.”

Though Hermione valued herself in no way a healer, she couldn't deny the fact that Sirius still feeling in pain wasn't a good sign. After he had laid down for the evening, she made her way to his room with a pan of warm water a cloth.

She knocked gently on the door, as if she need to, before pushing it open. Sirius had propped himself upon the pillows and turned his eyes as she walked quietly in the room.

“This might make you feel better. . . One of the potions,” She joked

He almost smiled but Hermione didn't notice. She had made her way to his bedside, dipped the cloth in the warm water, and began to smooth it across the wounds and scars on his chest. He watched her carefully, his eyes never leaving her face as her hands moved.

“Enough,” He stated finally. “I'm okay, Hermione. Get some rest.”

 

**31 August, 1995**

 

“AGAIN! Take a breath, we're doing it again.”

Sweat drenched Hermione's hair, clung her shirt to her body, and dripped down the better part of her face like raindrops. She took a deep breath, shaking her head, and gripped the chair tightly until the muscles in her fingers ached desperately.

“No more,” She begged, shifting uncomfortably in the chair beneath her.

“Again!” Sirius insisted, forcing her chin up to face him. “Listen to me, you have to be prepared for anything. You're doing great, but you have to keep going. They won't stop just because you beg them to. So we will do it again, and again, and _again_.”

“Sirius,” She began, her head falling to the side out of exhaustion.

Before she could finish her thought, he was invading her mind.

Before her flashed images of their tiny, blue safe house where they met Luna and Charlie.

She twisted her head and clenched her fists, willing her mind. _No._

Then he perused her mind of her memories of Harry. She faltered, reliving a blissful moment of her, Harry, and Ron sitting in the common room laughing before the fire.

Again, suddenly, flashed the safe house.

“ _No!”_ She mentally screamed, barricading her mind.

Her mental walls slammed into place, but not quickly enough.

“Shut off your thoughts, Hermione,” Sirius said, sweat beading his forehead as well. “Think of nothing. Don't even let me see Harry. Don't let me see anything.”

“I need a break,” Hermione whispered, inhaling sharply, her mouth dry.

“A break?” Sirius nearly laughed. “A _break_? You won't get a break, Hermione, Merlin forbid Death Eaters ever have you. You won't get water, fresh air, food, and you definitely won't get a break!”

“We'll do it again,” He said sternly.

When finally Hermione's body was distraught with physical and mental exhaustion, and her tears and mixed with the sweat on her face until the two became one, did Sirius finally stop.

Both of them, breathing heavily, stared at one another.

“You should've stopped sooner,” Hermione whimpered, her eyes on the floor while she struggled to regain a steady heartbeat.

“The enemy won't stop,” Sirius began, but Hermione was distraught and overcome with memories, and her shout interrupted him.

“ _This was the first bloody lesson!_ ”

Sirius gave her a but a moment to reclaim herself. Watching the young girl, the same age as his godson, struggle so in a world that craved her death, broke him all over again. He had spent many a night deciding how to protect her. Running and hiding wasn't permanent, even he knew that.

After Lucius had found him, the world had seemed more real. He had imagined Hermione in the grasp of someone as vicious as Lucius. How could she protect herself? She was a child. What chance did she have against a grown, skilled wizard.

It had taken some time, but eventually Sirius had been faced with realization that rather than helping Hermione, he was pacifying her. The best thing for her, what she needed most in these times, as preparations. It would be harsh, cold, and possibly cruel to push her as she needed, but Sirius knew, ultimately, it could possibly mean life or death for the girl.

Given these facts, still, Sirius could not ignore the girl before with sweat pouring from her body, eyes of tears, and lips begging him to stop. He felt evil. Disgusting. But she needed to be prepared.

Afflicted, the nurturing part of him mourned. He finally left the room momentarily to retrieve a cool a washrag. When he returned, Hermione had relaxed her hands but her face remained wet with perspiration and she breathed heavily.

Sirius cooled her face, gently moving the cloth from her forehead to her bright, red cheeks. He studied her carefully, and when finally her energy began to return and she opened her eyes to face him, he pulled away.

“You should have stopped,” She whispered, nearly begging, still.

“Hermione, I wished only to prepare you,” He began, moving the cool cloth between his fingers before brushing it once more across her hot cheeks. “You may never be hardened, to your core. Your soul is gentle..”

He pulled away and watched her carefully. Her face, what once pale, with stains of heat exhaustion, slowly regained normal color. He took a deep breath, watching her face and, in that moment imagining everyone he'd lost; James, Lily, Remus, Harry. . . How could he save her? Someone whose very veins fought to do good, though it may mean their demise. . .

Grey eyes met brown, and Sirius frowned.

“Your gentle soul will be your downfall.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for your generous comments! I truly hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.


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